


Miasma

by arnediadglanduath



Series: Black Nebula [2]
Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Not exactly consensual sort of infidelity, Part 2:, Pretty much everyone is really distressed, Psychological Trauma, References to Sexual Assault, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags Subject to Mutation, This is getting a lot darker than I ever wanted it to be, Torture, sort of infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-06-08 21:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 129,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15252828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arnediadglanduath/pseuds/arnediadglanduath
Summary: Miasma:in Greek mythology, it is an infectious force that is autonomous. It is tied to the earth by ill-got deeds, and cannot be removed unless the forbearer of such deeds is dead.Being a parent is scary. Being an expectant parent is scarier. Being an expectant parent while your partner is imprisoned and the entire world is falling to shambles is probably the literal definition of hell.





	1. Chapter 1

_My love was a shipwreck deep under the sea,  
a silent and watery prison for me._

_With corners so silent and robes full of death,  
and lips that could capture my every breath._

_Fingers that groped quite like long strands of kelp,  
dragging me down when I begged them for help._

_A body as pale as a skeleton sunk,  
wrapping me up in a tidewater trunk._

_Dragging my tongue across decks made of night,  
tangled in rigging that delayed my flight._

_Dredging for anchors that didn't exist,  
never quite knowing to cease and desist._

_The crow's nest held views eternally blank.  
Eyeglass-horizons so cloudy and dank._

_Ghost-hunting sails without wind from afar,  
with watery eyes staring up at the stars._

_Drinking deep of a poison more potent than rum;  
sobbing for gallows that just wouldn't come.  _

_Walking on sandbars with no relative end,  
fantastical promises just 'round the bend._

_Screaming out into trenches as deep as the earth.  
Discovering death when I wanted birth._

_A face utterly haunting could drag me deep down;  
singing like sirens with intent to drown._

_Looking for answers in crypts borne from lies,  
rubbing out stains with exhausted eyes._

_My love gave me depths that I cannot escape.  
A relative dark, and consensual rape._

_And then they sunk down to where I couldn't reach,  
so I swam to the shore and died right on the beach._

* * *

 

 

Eight months.

That’s how long it had been. Standing inside the broken, shattered skeleton of Fort Condor, Genesis tried to concentrate on the task assigned to him. He’d only been off of suspension for a little over a month and he was already bored. That was to be expected. Ferrying samples discarded by dying SOLDIERs and gathering up the last of the transmission sequences was dull work, but it was the only work he’d had in weeks. The flight there had been long and tedious. Up to his neck in surveillance, the redhead didn’t dare put a single toe out of line. Administration was adamant that his continued place as Shinra’s Finest was tenuous. The people loved him, so they endured, but that ‘benevolence’ only extended so far. He had a curfew, a round-the-clock guard, and a constant shadow. Going to the bathroom in HQ required an escort and the paperwork that went across his desk was grunt work; nothing official...nothing interesting.

A sharp gust of wind ferried its way through a crack in the limestone walls to eddy coldly about his ankles. Tilting his head, the Commander stared upwards; at the hole in the ceiling to the sky above. There was no salvaging this, of that he was sure. The foundations of the Fort were damaged beyond hope of refurbishment, and there were no troops willing to come back to a place that had seen such terrible carnage. Once the site of a critical reactor, the pipes that fed into the massive supply of mako had been damaged beyond repair. He and the crew assigned to accompany him wore biohazard suits to avoid getting mako poisoning from the massive amounts of natural gas that was escaping into the atmosphere around them.

Their orders were straightforward.

Repair the external structure, secure the area so no wandering civilians would haplessly come across it. The official report cited _‘concerns for public safety’_ but Genesis translated into _‘concerns for a massive lawsuit.’_ Because that was exactly what it was; Shinra covering its giant, corrupt backside. And he was the one doing it, it was almost laughable. In another time, he’d have told Lazard to go fuck himself, but the man was looking ever-more haggard. And there were rumors that his position in the company was on tenterhooks. Out of all the higher-ups, the head of SOLDIER seemed to sympathize the most with his position. He wasn’t forthcoming in terms of other issues, but he was kind, and when Genesis had come in the third day after he’d-pretty much-been forced into sexual assault, he didn’t even complain when the redhead broke his desk in half with Rapier.

Something crunched under his boot, and the blue-eyed FIRST paused before kneeling down to look at it. Lodged underneath a fallen piece of roofing, so dusty that someone without mako-enhanced vision would never have seen it, was a single, bedraggled black feather. Genesis choked on a ragged inhale, his vision swimming somewhat before he wrenched himself back into coherency. His heart seemed to seize in his chest before it started beating again. Because he did _not_ need this, not right now. But he still reached downwards-after surreptitiously glancing from side to side-brushing the refuse out of the way so he could pick the offending item up. Straightening, he tucked it into his pocket before continuing onward to whatever was left of the radio room. Nodding to a SECOND stationed at the entrance, he ducked under a cracked keystone archway to wander into the derelict space.

Suspension had been torturous.

He’d spent a month of it locked in his rooms, burrowed under the covers clutching a shirt Sephiroth had left in his apartment. In retrospect, he was lucky to have it all, because the moving crew that had cleared the General’s apartment had scoured his at the same time. Everything that had defined their relationship was absent...their scattered belongs... negligible little things one or the other had brought back from the front. A palm frond from their time in Wutai, 'The Brush’...and the little silver tree charm. Reaching up to brush his neck through the biohazard suit, Genesis swallowed reflexively. Because of course Shinra would take that...take the very first token Sephiroth had ever bought for him. A token from when he was sick, _dying_ , and the younger man didn't want to let him go.

Eventually, it was Angeal who had gotten him out of bed. Fed up with his self-pity and tired of making excuses to the redhead’s men; the dark-haired SOLDIER had stormed into his apartment and broken half the appliances before the Commander rose and punched him in the face. The resulting scuffle was enough to alarm Administration into sending a group of Turks. The black-suited, sunglasses-wearing men came crashing through Genesis’ front door only to find the occupant and his best friend screaming curses at each other on opposite sides of the living room. It was-possibly-the worst fight he and Angeal had ever had and it took a week for them to be even remotely sociable with each other again. They still weren’t on the best of terms, but the Commander was unwilling to really push for any form of normalcy. Motivation was incredibly hard for him regardless.

After that, he’d started searching for any indication of where Shinra could have sent Sephiroth, but he was waylaid at every turn. His access levels had been neutered to the point that he might as well have been a desk clerk and he was no longer allowed down into the Science Division. His appointments with Hojo were sequestered to a makeshift examination room a few doors down from his office. Even then he had an escort, and the scientist in question seemed to take a kind of savage delight in poking and prodding him until he was ready to choke him right out of those stupid glasses. This-of course-was not permissible. Genesis tried that twice and his suspension got extended each time. After the second incident, Lazard had called him to his office and told him that his livelihood was on an extremely short leash.

If he was alone and unattached, he would have left. Really, he’d have either razed HQ to the ground or gone out in a hail of bullets while trying. But the fact that Sephiroth might still be there stopped him, along with the painful truth that he’d never be able to kill Angeal or harm his men. Genesis didn’t hate SOLDIER, he hated what they stood for, but that didn’t change the fact that there were hundreds of good-hearted, well-meaning recruits living in bunkers on the lower floors of the facility. There was absolutely no reason for him to engage in mass-slaughter for the sake of a single individual...no matter how much he loved him.

Most of the radio equipment was fried.

Twisting the knobs on a dilapidated S.O.S. system, the Commander grimaced. His orders were to retrieve anything he found for the possibility of documentation, but the mechanisms were completely shorted out. It looked like some of them had been ripped from the wall and thrown haphazardly. He tried not to think about the possible perpetrator behind such actions. Frowning, the redhead glanced to the right, a scarlet brow raising as he took in the sight of a colorful rubber ball decorated with daisies. It was very out of place, but SOLDIERs were known to take mementos from home while stationed for extended amounts of time. The guards at Fort Condor had generally run five month deployments, and it was often difficult when they had loved ones waiting for them in Midgar or elsewhere.

Reverting his attention back to the mess of broken communication devices and wires, he eyed an old workstation that looked to be in acceptable condition. Gesturing for a non-magnetic screwdriver, Genesis nodded his thanks to a tech before detaching the exterior cover and carefully searching the internal components for the hard drive. It was very doubtful that anything on it was useful, but if he didn’t have something to show for all this he was going to go absolutely insane. It was something to do, and he was tired of standing around looking like a furious and confused scuba diver.

**_”Sir”_ **

The tech’s voice was fuzzy and somewhat broken over the internal sound system they used to communicate through the biohazard suits. Sighing, the redhead threw down the screwdriver and rolled his eyes. Salvage technicians were probably the stupidest, most incompetent branch of Intelligence he’d ever come across. They never seemed to know how to do _fuck all_ without orders, and if he wasn’t careful, they were very likely to kill themselves trying to. Fumbling with the velcro catch, Genesis peeled back the protective shield concealing the intercom receptor and pressed it inwards.

“Yeah?”

**_”Sir, we have a situation...in the hallway. You ought to come have a look.”_ **

“If Agent Dheubh’s got his sorry ass stuck in a rampart again I swear to Gaia-”

**_”-It’s not that”_** the tech’s voice was uncharacteristically flat.

Pausing, the redhead accepted the fact that this might be remotely more interesting than salvaging a probably useless computer. Abandoning his mediocre project, he stepped outside of the communications room and into the dilapidated exterior barracks. It had started raining; large, round droplets fell from the sky...tinged with a faint undertone of green from atmospheric mako absorption. They hit the shattered flagstones only to explode in bursts of clear chartreuse...puddles steaming faintly in concave areas that gathered water.Stepping around them, Genesis climbed over a coagulation of cleared rubble to reach the still somewhat-erect hallway beyond; sliding down and dusting himself off when he reached the bottom. A group of agents were gathered around something that he couldn’t see in the darkness...the electric glow of their suits starkly contrasting with the darkness around them. Groaning inwardly, the blue-eyed SOLDIER stepped forward, irritably hoping that this wasn’t going to eat up too much of his time.

“Alright” he snapped. “Let’s see what this-”

He stopped and inhaled sharply.

Before him, surrounded by a semicircle of salvage technicians...was the pale, lifeless body of a little girl. Swallowing, nausea rising in the back of his throat, Genesis forced himself to approach, to bend down and touch the mottled skin that was already rotting away...degraded by the unprocessed Lifestream falling from the sky and seeping into the battered fortress. It looked like she hadn’t been there long...judging from the condition over her clothes. He focused on that first; on the colorful paisley pattern of her frilly dress...on the soft sky blue color of her shoes. No more than a few days...by his estimate. She’d have been inundated with maggots and dirt if she had been...that spill of flaxen hair would have lost its luster and those tiny, fine-boned fingers would be greyish...not bluish at the tips. Suddenly, the ball he’d seen made sense. She must have wandered in from a nearby town...gotten curious and then succumbed to the fumes. Briefly, the thought of her stumbling through the empty, crumbling corridors...sick, disoriented and alone flashed through his mind.  Extending a trembling hand, the redhead tried to appear professional as he lifted a long-lashed lid...pulling it back so he could gauge the condition of her corneas.

Her eyes were green.

The low, agonized whimper that rose in the back of his throat didn’t register. There was a roar behind his ears as a sense of existential horror built within him. Her eyes were green. And it shouldn’t have bothered him...shouldn’t have even concerned him. But-! The men surrounding him jumped back as he staggered to his feet and tried to keep himself from retching. Stumbling backwards, he ripped off the hood to his biohazard suit in time to be violently sick over the stone flooring. His vision swam somewhat as the taste of bile flooded over his tongue...thick and acidic. To their credit, the techs were quick to take action; one of them stepped forward to steady him while the other held his hood...hovering anxiously as they waited for him to recover himself. Someone was saying something, but Genesis was too enmired to discern exactly what it was. Because it just had to be fucking _now_ that this sort of thing upset him...when he was trying to garner standing within the company in order to fix this.

But he couldn’t handle this.

Not with the knowledge that Sephiroth was somewhere where he couldn’t reach him. Somewhere dark, somewhere sterile and hard and not filled with the comforts that someone in his condition should have. Bereft of friends and people who loved him...staring at concrete walls while the days ticked by...shorter and shorter. Poked by needles, touched by the cold...indifferent hands of a man who didn’t love him...monitored by a company whose only goal was to better their own means to an end. Wondering where Genesis was...why he hadn’t come for him yet...or maybe even assuming that Genesis was dead. Knowing that his death would follow soon after...when his usefulness had expired…. Equally alone as the little girl...carrying his child.

A child who could have green eyes.

**_”I’m sorry sir”_ **

Genesis gasped, wrenched himself from his thoughts and looked wildly at the plain-faced individual before him. Brown-eyed, with a smattering of dark hair...he reminded him painfully of Angeal when he was younger...minus the irises. He’d underestimated his men, which wasn’t unusual for him these days. Because the men gathered around him looked sad an sympathetic, though they couldn’t possibly know the cause. Some of them had tears in their eyes, and he knew they were thinking of their own families, but he might never _have_ a family. And Goddess knew he’d never wanted one before now...before he knew it was a possibility...before everything had gone to absolute hell. The agent was still speaking.

**_”My daughter passed when the General-”_** He broke off and shot the Commander a nervous glance. **_”We lived in the Junon area, y’see. I didn’t go home often, but...I miss her, every day.”_**

“Thank you, Cynn” the blue-eyed soldier said tightly. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”

**_”Thank you, sir.”_ **

He moved away, and the rest of the men followed his lead...more than likely giving him space. Genesis exhaled through his teeth, scraping his fingers through his hair. Logically, he couldn’t defend Sephiroth’s actions in terms of his loss of cognitive autonomy. No one knew the real reason behind the silver-haired man’s actions save for a sere few, and revealing it now would do nothing positive. His partner had killed perhaps two-thousand innocent civilians; it was the greatest loss of individual people in recorded history. When he stopped to think about it, it made him shiver with disgust. Not because of who had done it, but because of who had made him do it. Jenova was constantly on his mind, but he wasn’t any closer to finding answers there than anywhere else. If he hadn’t been suspended he’d have flown to Nibelheim and burned the fucking reactor into a pile of ash. Because those people...those mothers and fathers and children hadn’t deserved their fate...and someday Jenova would pay.

“Some of you are going to have to go into town” he said, raising his voice. “To find and inform the parents.” The sinking feeling in his stomach deepened as the agents threw nervous glances at each other. “What?!” he snapped. “Is that too fucking hard for you?! To inform a little girl’s parents that she’s dead?! That she died alone and probably scared out of her fucking min-”

**_”-Sir”_** Agent Cald interrupted, raising his hands. **_”I’m sorry, but we have orders to dispose of any bodies without acknowledgement of their possible identities.”_**

A cold, icy sensation hardened in his gut. The redhead bared his teeth and the men backed away. Whirling, he snatched his helmet from the waiting tech and threw it back on, preparing to return to the main part of the fort before turning back. When he did so, the look in his eyes was evidently enough to make them retreat further.

“You’re all trash” he hissed. There was a collective murmur and he felt weariness seep into his bones. Shoulders slumping, he turned away, opening his mouth as he did so. When he spoke again, his voice was broken and ragged. “...And so am I.”

Blindly, he crawled back over the rubble to stumble down the other side. When his feet hit the flagstones, he nearly lost his balance. Only a black-gloved hand attached to a hazmatted arm stopped him from doing so. Wearily, he looked up to acknowledge Zack, nodding perfunctorily before straightening and stepping away. Angeal’s ward looked sympathetic; somewhat sad and understanding. Bitterly, he acknowledged that his professional training had instilled such values in him...such kindness and competency. If there was ever a moment when he _needed_ Angeal, it would be now. Because now he was crumbling apart again from the inside out.

_**”C’mon.”**_ Inwardly, the older man marveled at Fair’s ability to sound comforting yet authoritative through the tinny intercom feed in their suits.

To his credit, the dark-haired SECOND was every bit the dedicated ward. He wasn’t invasive, however, like any other tail would have been. And, surprisingly, he was easy to talk to once you got over his joviality. Most of his training had been shoved to the wayside in favor of his task, and Genesis felt a little bit guilty about that. He had-after all-been lined up to take his place when the degradation was eating him alive from the inside out. Grudgingly, he’d acknowledged that that sort of thing probably didn’t matter to Angeal’s student. Fair was equally embedded in the concept of honor, and while being a hero was important to him, he obviously didn’t want it on as great a scale as he’d once had at the same age. It was difficult to acknowledge that someone younger than him might have a more reasonable outlook on life, but it was equally difficult to ignore the truth that Zack was likely a better man than he would ever be.

Stepping through a gap in the exterior walls, the two SOLDIERs made their way to the massive transport helicopter lounging just a few hundred feet away from the ruins. Partially covered on three sides by a massive protective tarp supported by steel poles, it was a testament to how long they had been there. Birds were generally impervious to rain, but mako was a virulent substance and after over a month stationed, it was necessary to provide their only way home with some form of protection. Genesis could fly, but nobody else could; he didn’t like the idea of explaining why the majority of his attending crew and security personnel were splattered across whatever area of topography the rotors decided to shit out over.

Scattered around the helicopter were about twenty tents of varying sizes. Unlike in Wutai, the topography of the Junon area was fairly standard, and the rain wasn’t a heavy, continuous thing. To the back was a large fire pit built by some of the more ambitious THIRDs sent along with them. Genesis had never been particularly partial to joining the men when it came to their nightly routine of sitting around trading off-color jokes and stories of back home; but lately he’d discovered there was always a fairly steady flow of alcohol. It was easier for him to go to sleep at night with half a bottle of cheap vodka dulling his thoughts.

Ducking into the gaping maw of the enormous hull, the Commander pulled off his helmet with a sigh of relief and threw it to the side. Zack was only slightly more decorous; peeling his own away and chucking it onto an overhead transport rack before bending to fetch his and doing the same. They rid themselves of their biohazard suits in easy silence, returning them to their respective hooks and briefly conversing with the pilot, who was enmired in some sort of repair or other. The redhead was about to head back out and to his tent when his childhood friend’s trainee stopped him with a firm hand on his arm. Resignedly, he looked back to find ridiculously large blue eyes looking apprehensive but determined. Turning, he folded his arms and raised an expectant scarlet brow.

By his knowledge, Fair was not aware of all the circumstances surrounding his ‘fall from grace’ as he liked to put it. He knew that he and Sephiroth had been in a relationship, and that the General had been under some form of mind control when he stormed the city, which had eventually led to something heinous occuring between the two FIRSTs. However, there were times when the older man got the niggling idea that Zack knew more than he let on. He was very careful not to talk about Aerith romantically-though, really, that might be because he didn’t want him to beat him up for lusting over his sister, and he’d be right-and any conversation about family-especially children-initiated by the men he swiftly diverted. If he thought about it, it made sense; because while Angeal was good at keeping secrets, he was not good about worrying about anything or anyone he cared about. And with Genesis being the subject of his worry, he couldn’t exactly confide in him.

“Look” the subject of his contemplation said tentatively. “I just…” a harsh exhalation. “Man, ‘Geal is so much better at this than me. If you wanna talk, I’m not the brightest crayon in the box, but I just want you to know I’m here for you man.”

The scarlet-haired soldier grimaced, and looked away. Talking never seemed to do him any fucking good. It just made him think about everything more, about where he went wrong...what he could have done differently...what he _wasn’t_ doing because he was so autonomously limited.

“That’s...kind of you” he said, forcing the words through stiff lips. “But, no. Thank you.”

Zack looked-if possible-like Genesis had just kicked him. Those broad shoulders slumped, and if he’d been a chocobo with a responsive crest, his hair would have drooped to one side.

“Yeah. I figured. But I know...about...about Sephiroth, and what Hojo probably did. And I don’t have kids but, I can’t imagine what it would be like if Aerith-”

“-If you get Aerith pregnant you’re dead” the redhead snapped.

For a moment, it seemed as if his fellow soldier would accede, because he shrank further and lowered his head, clasping his hands. Then-suddenly-a mulish look suffused his visage. Sapphire eyes not unlike his own cut sideways to him, bearing a sneakiness that the Commander didn’t entirely like. A somewhat angry expression traversed normally-cheerful features and Zack straightened to full height.

“Yeah?” he said cooly. “You gonna kill off the father of her child? That’s really cool of you.”

The FIRST spluttered, incredulous, because _what?!_ He couldn’t have just heard Zack Fair talk back to him, and in a tone that bordered on insubordination. But the SECOND was still talking.

“Coming from someone who knocked up the General, that’s pretty rich.”

Genesis saw red.

In retrospect, he probably should have seen it coming. At the time, the only thing on his mind was...well...too much was on his mind. Every emotion he’d bottled up inside for the past two fortnights, every despairing thought, every resentful self-deprecating rumination coagulated into a ball of simmering rage. There was a cacophonous _***bang***_ , an exclamation of pain and he vaguely registered that he’d slammed a body into the metal hull of the chopper. That all faded in the face of his indignation, because obviously he had failed at some point to emphasize the gravity of his situation...of the situation that everyone was in because he and Sephiroth had made the piss-poor decision to _fall in love_. His vision cleared somewhat, and he was greeted with the visage of Zack staring at him with wide blue eyes and...something else… _triumph???_ Genesis snarled and shoved him backwards hard...until the the hull groaned.

“You think this is some kind of _joke?_ ” he hissed. “That getting an Ancient pregnant or being an Ancient and getting someone pregnant is some sort of funny side show? Do you even understand the implications of what that would do to Aerith? Of what it _did_ to Sephiroth?!” An ache in his chest seemed to grow until it was forcing its way into his jaw; as if the grind of bone and flesh was more than a physical agony but a mental agony. “ _Every day_ I have to wake up and face the fact that I failed him, that he’s alone...and so...so much of him is changing and has changed and he probably fucking hates it because he’s never been out of shape.” The redhead swallowed furiously against the lump in his throat. “I just want to see him, _touch_ him, put my fingers over him and _feel-_ ”

-He broke off, because Zack was _smiling_. Granted, he was gently smiling, which was lucky or the redhead was fairly certain he’d have murdered him...but he was still smiling. Understanding bloomed in his chest, even as he stepped away. A different kind of anger replaced the rage, this time with an undertone of sadness and bitterness.

“You did that on purpose” he said flatly.

“Yeah” Fair said cheerfully, unflattening himself and brushing dust from his clothes. “You looked like you needed it.” Putting a hand to his hip, he chewed on his lower lip for a moment before striding forward and hugging him, patting him rather forcefully on the back for good measure. “Good talk.”

The scarlet-haired soldier swung at him but the younger man was already several feet away. As he stumbled into empty space, he vaguely wondered when his reflexes had gotten so incredibly terrible. He was thirty, of course, but that wasn’t an excuse. Zack cocked his head before speaking again.

“By the way, Aerith’s an Ancient?”

Genesis swore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning:** Quite a lot of implied suicide attempts in this chapter.

Eight months.

That's how long it had been. Sitting on an unyielding, uncomfortable cot, Sephiroth stared blankly at the far wall and attempted to tell himself that he wasn't losing his mind. Four walls; two opposing surfaces...top and bottom. Steel and titanium, four feet thick with eight feet of concrete supporting it. Padded so he wouldn't attempt to 'terminate himself’ by bashing his head into anything. The door was mechanical; triggered by an exterior lock mechanism. No windows, no food hatch, no doorknob. A bed bolted to the floor, a toilet with no lid...also bolted. A mattress and a scratchy coverlet, a flat pillow and a camera inlaid in the opposite wall covered with six inches of bulletproof glass.

Nothing else.

No books, no music and no writing apparatuses. No television or extraneous snacks or drinks. Certainly nothing to build or paint or create; nothing to preoccupy his mind. Meals came three times a day, accompanied by six armed guards whose uniforms were certainly not any SOLDIER-affiliated garb he was familiar with. Exercise was an hour and a half a day; a treadmill in another cell-like room next to his with assorted weights and a stretching mat...but nothing too heavy or strenuous. He was required to drink a gallon of water in a 24-hour period, along with various supplements.

Morning and evening, a nurse came in to check his vitals but never spoke to him. He was allowed eight hours’ sleep, but was forced to get up for scheduled 'activities.’ His clothes were simple, nondescript scrubs; not unlike the scrubs he'd wore as a youth in a similar situation. The only difference being that they were a slightly different shade of grey and somewhat softer. When he exercised he was allowed sneakers over his socks and ten minutes subsequently in the shower. Looking down at his hands, the green-eyed first clenched them before letting them relax.

He didn't remember how he'd come there.

When he'd fallen asleep at the end of his heat, he had no memory of the hours that followed. His last recollection was of curling around Genesis; warm, safe, and sated. Before that...he remembered Jenova. Huffing, Sephiroth focused his gaze on the wall again. _Jenova._ She had ruined him. Even now he could remember the way she'd poisoned his mind.  
..taken control of his senses until the only thing he could think of was revenge. She'd driven him to henious, unforgivable acts that marred his psyche like thousands of irreparable scars. Sephiroth had killed a great many people before her, but he had never killed without orders, and he had _never_ killed Innocents. He supposed, in the dichotomy of things the terminology of 'innocent’ was debatable. But he had only ever slaughtered for a regime, never out of pleasure.

For his first month imprisoned, he'd struggled with it horribly. To the point where the staff were forced to tube feed him to keep him alive. That was only when he was too weak to defend himself...of course. They let him starve for at least a fortnight before he saw a single soul; and he was-at first-glad for it. He hadn't wanted to live because there was no way.he could make up for his crimes, and he didn't want to be part of something terrible anymore. Shinra had used him, used his mind and his strength to secure dominance over Gaia. They had brainwashed him and allowed him to be tortured without a second thought to his well-being. Sephiroth had never pitied himself, _would_ never pity himself. But then, when they couldn't use his mental or physical prowess anymore, they had used his reproductive prowess. And he couldn't tolerate the idea of being part of the makings of what would amount to be a copy of himself. That wasn't life. He couldn't condone creating life to give that life death.

Beyond his starvation and initial refusal to live, the first month was torture in of itself. He was sick, violently sick for long periods of time. When he wasn't vomiting he was lying curled up on the cot inundated with nausea. Later, when he'd recovered somewhat, he acknowledged that the concept of 'morning sickness’ was a pathetic joke. Because he was constantly ill. If he wasn't sick he was hungry, but the hunger was a trifle compared to gnawing ache of guilt embedded in his soul. He fought viciously to resist when they finally fed him, but he was too weak from malnutrition at that point and too miserable to focus on escaping. Instead, he lay on the floor after the ordeal and bitterly wished for death.

Hojo was unsympathetic.

It seemed that he was sequestered in a high security wing of the Science Division; but he'd never been there before and didn't know the layout. The first time he'd been called for a 'checkup’ he'd lunged across the examination table and tried to strangle his 'father’ with his bare hands. Hojo had laughed, as if he was accustomed to furious, muscular men attempting to murder him. Then, he and the twelve techs assigned strapped him to the table and put a microphone to his stomach. Hearing the heartbeat for the first time was a terrible experience, because it confirmed that the scientist had gotten what he wanted. It took everything he had not to burst into tears in front of the man he hated almost as much as he hated Jenova.

The next month was similarly awful.

It was explained to him that he seemed to be 'gestating’ half as quickly as the average human. Which essentially doubled his carrying time. The idea of being locked up for eighteen months had thrown him into hysterics. Because it had been _years_ since he'd been tossed into a dark cell and told to mind himself. The little boy sequestered in his psyche howled in desperation and fear. Because he could not do this, he could _not_ live like this. Six weeks in and he'd tried to kill himself in multiple ways; ranging from bed sheets to deliberately choking on vitamins. He'd only recently received a blanket again and his supplements were now intravenous.

Over the course of the next few months, he resolutely ignored the changes in his body. By the sixth month his hair was fuller and thicker, and while his pallor had been excellent initially, he was fairly certain he'd make a dermatologist green with envy. Oddly, Hojo encouraged exercise...and while he was loathe to do anything the bespectacled madman suggested, it was also the only entertainment he got whatsoever. He spent as much time in the 'gym’ as he possibly could, and if he got five extra minutes he considered it a blessing. With this in consideration, he remained physically fit, but he despaired over his weapons’ training. Running through positions without a sword was not adequate upkeep, but he was fairly certain Masamune had been destroyed...along with any traces of his identity.

The better he ‘behaved’ the more ‘privileges’ he received.

Though, really, they weren’t so much privileges as basic human rights. He was permitted a clock, and he was given a choice of what to eat, though only in terms of dinner. The staff also permitted him to use utensils instead of his fingers, because evidently they trusted him enough not to try anything with a spoon and a fork. Sephiroth was also allowed to decide if he didn’t feel well enough to exercise or see Hojo...though he never particularly utilized the former. Sleeping in late was somewhat of a luxury, but he was too ingrained in the habituality of rising early to do paperwork to really appreciate anything about it. Occasionally, he was given a textbook to read; usually something math or science related...which was fine; he had a statistical mind and while he’d read most of them before he was bored enough that he’d take anything.

He was never allowed to see the fetus.

In some ways, Sephiroth was thankful, because it didn't allow him to get attached. He made a habit of referring to the creature living in his body as 'the fetus’, and it didn't cause him any more issues than it already had. He had enough problems without investing himself in this on a psychiatric level. So when he was dragged to the labs for ultrasound after ultrasound, he told himself the thumping on the monitor was simply his anxious heartbeat, and that whatever Hojo was looking at on the screen didn't involve him. When the morning sickness abated it was easy to pretend that all of it was punishment for his actions and that there were no extenuating circumstances.

That all changed when he started to show.

It was subtle...still was...and he couldn't place exactly when it had started to happen. Only that he'd pulled his shirt over his head to step into the shower and noticed his stomach wasn't as flat as it used to be. On a normal human, it probably would have been entirely dismissible; on someone who had spent their entire life at the peak of their performance, it was like a neon sign in the middle of the desert… _at night._ Sephiroth had spent five minutes staring down at himself in horror before a guard pounded on the door to remind him he only had half his time left. Under the spray, he'd tried to reason with himself...tell himself that this was nothing...that this would pass. But it was difficult when the infinitesimal convex at his middle was proof of the fact that he and Genesis had created _life._ Life that was just as much a component of the redhead as it was his.

It only got worse.

By the time the eighth month rolled around his abdomen had taken on a definitive shape; though it was still not visible beneath his scrubs. It was impossible-he discovered-to ignore something that was changing your physicality so drastically. From the way it kept him from sleeping face down or on his back, to the way he occasionally forgot it was there and would only realize it when he was trying to take an impossibly quick shower. Sephiroth refused to touch it. At all. Because touching made it too real and too painful. For weeks he avoided it, pretended to be deaf, dumb, and blind to it. The silver-haired SOLDIER told himself that it was irrelevant, that it didn't change his fate and worrying about it wasn't going to make time move any faster.

Then 'the fetus’ moved.

Specifically, 'the fetus’ fluttered...or something equally strange. For someone without attuned physical and psychological senses, it would have been negligible. A human female would have attributed it to digestion or something equally natural. To Sephiroth, it was a pivotal moment. It was the moment when he couldn't call it 'the fetus’ anymore. Sitting in his darkened cell, perched in the middle of the cot and facing towards the opposite wall, the green-eyed first was eating dinner when it happened. He’d dropped his spoon, didn't even hear it fall to the ground as that first, miniscule whisper trembled within him. Like the quiver of a gasp...or a sob...it nudged gently; so unlike the monstrosity he'd filled his head with. So unlike the monstrosity he was. And he'd set his tray down with trembling fingers to splay him palm against his middle...feeling the hard subtle curve of it until it happened once more.

That was the evening he’d gotten his utensils taken away again...along with all his other earned ‘privileges.’

Because he had gone-as a redheaded Commander would say-figuratively _’batshit’_ and tried to sever his cartoid with a fork. He’d nearly succeeded too. Sephiroth woke up in the labs a day later strapped to yet another gurney with a pounding headache and a sense of existential despair. He had failed. Not only in the sense of being an individual with free will, but in being able to keep a neutral viewpoint. Because now he was attached. The child growing inside him was the living byproduct of what had occured between him and Genesis. And as much as he wanted to tell himself that they’d had no choice-and they hadn’t-there was also the fact that it had been done with love. An insurmountable amount of love. When he’d taken the scarlet-haired soldier into his body and responded with equal adulation it was anything but unwilling...anything but forced. And he couldn’t in good conscience hate or ignore something that was the culmination of so much love.

Gritting his teeth, Sephiroth stared at the far wall and tried to ignore the ache that rose up at the thought of his absent partner.

Missing Genesis was like missing some vital part of himself that-until now-he’d never known was so large a part of his existence. He’d known that he loved the blue-eyed first, of course. But he’d never known that not having him near him would be so mentally and physically painful. Some part of him knew that he wasn’t dead, but whether he was close to it or not was debatable. Nevertheless, he was constantly inundated with irritating pining; enough that he decided that if he ever _did_ see the older man again he might just kill him himself. Hojo had explained it scientifically, of course, though it wasn’t as if he’d sought out his advice. The scientist had simply looked at him one day and said ‘pair bonding.’

When the silver-haired man glared at him with disgust and confusion he’d smirked and continued. Pair bonding was common across the board in terms of species, but his physiology was particularly attuned to it. Coupled with the fact that he was ‘gravid’ and ‘overly emotional due to an excess of hormones’, his need to be near Genesis was instinctual, borne out of a want to keep the bonded father close to ensure the cohesiveness of the family unit. This urge would grow stronger the closer he got to giving birth...though he wasn’t exactly sure how he could miss the man in question more than he already did.

This was not accounting for the slew of problems lack of physical contact had given him already.

A week ago, he’d woken up from a lurid dream involving Genesis and himself and his living room sofa. Really, it wasn’t so much a dream as it was a memory...because the redhead had taken him so many times on the aforementioned piece of furniture that he was sure it was sitting in a dumpster somewhere thoroughly ruined. It was like being pulled from a slurry of unconscious passion only to be slammed into reality; a reality where he was lying on his side with an erection that would not go away and an ache between his thighs that was so strong he couldn’t concentrate on anything else. It wasn’t like heat; he didn’t have the primal urge to seek out a mate and propagate...but he needed _something_. In some ways it was more virulent than heat, because there was no reasonable means to an end. It also didn’t have any feasible logic behind it, which made it more intimidating and embarrassing.

For maybe six days he held out.

Which-in retrospect-was a pathetically short stretch of time considering how well his endurance had served him in the past. But it was difficult when he was consistently being pulled from sleep by dreams that involved nothing but sex. Sephiroth had never counted himself to be particularly extravagant in terms of fornication...imaginatively anyway. But the imagery swimming about his brain might have been enough to make the subject of his unconscious fantasies blush furiously.  
It was certainly enough to make him blush thoroughly. He’d never considered masturbation before, certainly not in terms of _that_ area of him. But he was fairly sure if he didn’t do something he might die of celibacy.

So on the seventh day, Sephiroth rested. And by naming it ‘rest’ he was really avoiding the truth that he’d covered himself with his blanket and slid his fingers into himself only to come so hard it nearly hurt. Later, when he was fully sated and staring up at the ceiling through the scratchy coverlet he acknowledged that maybe he’d been missing a lot. So he did it, regularly. And he didn’t know he was being particularly noisy about it until one of the techs tried to give him a vibrator and he had to be restrained after he punched him in the face.

Thankfully, Hojo didn’t address that particular development.

To an outsider, it might have seemed humorous. But the tumult of confusion coupled with his changing physique was quickly making him descend into a state of constant fugue. Confinement was no longer something he handled well, and he was forced to acknowledge that his mental facilities were already severely compromised by how little decent human contact he was allowed. When he’d first been allowed out of the labs as a youth, talking to people was a terrifying thing. Even later, when he’d risen to the rank of General and had thousands of loyal troops at his disposal, socialization was a foreign thing. Now, he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d recover. Because this sort of thing wasn’t the type of situation that could be endured twice in a lifetime. Two years-or near enough to it-sequestered to a cell was a lot of time...and he was running out of things to think about to keep his brain active.

There were days when he simply stared at the walls until the padding seemed to pop out and swim in front of his vision. Then there were times when he would pace endlessly, reciting pi or counting to a million or trying to solve the Fujita conjecture. These exercises only worked as long as he was interested in them, and as the days flew by he was less and less motivated to find something to think about in favor of staring at nothing and pretending that he was simply a figment of someone’s imagination in a physical body. For a few days, the acknowledgement of ‘the fetus’ as ‘the baby’ kept him somewhat surface level, but it was less likely to move unless he was eating, and he was not in favor of eating all day to keep himself sane. He wouldn’t have been allowed to regardless. He’d met his nutritionist perhaps once, and she was not the same person he’d had as a child; mostly in the sense that she was fearsome and unduly strict.

The hydraulic lock keeping the door shut hissed and Sephiroth jerked himself out of his reverie.

Turning his head, he watched with a blank expression as the guards filed in and gestured for him to follow. Resignedly, he acknowledged that he was getting tired of appointments. Even as he rose to do what he was bid, he was distinctly aware of the fact that he was sick of getting poked and prodded until he felt less like a person and more like a scientific oddity. Stepping out into the dimly lit hallway, he grimaced inwardly as he acknowledged that that-essentially-was exactly what he was. Hojo had-apparently-taken a leaf out of Hollander’s book when it came to the construction of this particular section of the Science Division. The walls were similarly padded to constrict the way sound traveled, and the lightbulbs were that soft blue that he’d come to despise with every fibre of his being.

He didn’t regret killing Hollander, not really.

Turning down a corridor, Sephiroth acknowledged that there was nothing redeeming about the scientist that he’d decapitated upon his flight from HQ. He was scornful, snivelling, xenophobic and pathetic in a way that his biological father was not. At the very least, Hojo wasn’t afraid of showing people who he really was. It was-he supposed-why Shinra held him in such high esteem. Because he had absolutely no limits, and wasn’t reticent about presenting that unfettered insanity wherever he went. In a sense, he respected him more than he’d ever respected Hollander, because Hollander was a coward who could never hope to live up to the image he tried to present to others.

The labs in this particular section of the Science Division were-if possible-more extravagant than the labs he was accustomed to visiting. The silver-haired soldier had a sneaking suspicion that they had been engineered specifically for the purpose they were used; everything was new-smelling and top of the line. Inordinately large for research and testing purposes; there was a surgical table, an examination table, a delivery table that Sephiroth virulently avoided looking at, and other equally immoderate sections whose purpose remained obscure and-in the former General’s case-best left uninvestigated. He knew from experience that the ultrasound was in a closet to the rear. Unlike most of Hojo’s other facilities, this particular lab didn’t contain any mako; this was in of itself strange, but he didn’t question it.

Upon his entry, the man in question was sitting at what he assumed was a temporary desk setup to the right. Evidently immersed in his work, he waved them onwards without an upward glance, and the green-eyed soldier had to grit his teeth in order to avoid flinching away from the swarm of techs that inundated the space immediately afterwards. This was common, not because they were particularly interested in him, but because he was a ward of the scientist and they had to do their jobs in order to maintain a steady paycheck. They asked him perfunctory questions regarding his sleep cycle, vitals, and diet. Shoving him onto the examination table, they strapped a blood pressure cuff to his wrist whilst chattering amongst themselves; pulling his hair back so it wouldn’t get in the way of whatever was planned for him today and making him generally discomfited. There was the clatter of Hojo’s office chair pulling back, and he attempted to appear composed as the scientist in question approached. The swarm of assistants parted down the middle so he could lean in close and check Sephiroth’s pallor, pulling at his periorbital dermis rather harder than was necessary as he reverted his focus and utilized the otoscope.

Sephiroth occasionally wondered why the man had assistants at all; due to the fact that he always repeated everything they did, as if he didn’t trust them enough to rely on their documentation of his general vitals. Given enough thought, he supposed he could see it, because the bespectacled scientist was inherently meticulous about his work. Shinra might require him to have techs in order to ensure that there was someone to fall back on should he make a mistake, but the grey-haired, unstable doctor was usually the propagator behind most of his projects. He sincerely doubted that Hojo would trust someone enough to hold an empty beaker at the correct angle so he could fill it.

“I think we’ll do something different today” the scientist sneered as he put away his stethoscope. “Get the P6” he snapped at the crowd of assistants; returning rheumy eyes to his charge, the grin that spread across his face was sickening. “You haven’t been given _this_ privilege before.” It was with a feeling of sincere dread that the green-eyed first watched the techs wheel the ultrasound machine out of the closet and across the white-washed flooring. Despite the fact that his biological sire hadn’t elaborated, he had a sincere notion of what was intended for him. He wanted to scream, to beg...but doing any of those things would only prolong the inevitable. If Hojo couldn’t get him to do it willingly, he would force him...and it was better to acquiesce autonomously than to be forced into anything. “Now” the scientist in question purred, pressing the command button and smiling that awful smile as the device flared to life. “Please remain still.”

He would never get used to the feeling of the conductive medium being spread across his skin. Maybe it was the fact that it was applied by hands that had once sliced him open and let him bleed out on the floor; or maybe it was because it was cold and impersonal. Sephiroth would also never get used to the fact that anyone but Genesis could slide his shirt up until it bared the expanse of his now not-so-flat stomach. The wand he could handle, because it wasn’t particularly invasive or personal...but physical touch was agonizingly grating. It felt heinous to let anyone else put their hands on him; and while he’d barely been able to tolerate it before...now it felt reprehensible...like he was allowing something he shouldn’t.

The silver-haired soldier clenched his jaw as Hojo slowly turned the screen toward him, the wand hovering above his middle like a blade poised to cut through his flesh. Involuntarily, he jerked his head away.

“Now, now” Hojo cackled. “Don’t make me strap you down and get opthalmic clamps.”

Shivering, _hating_ the individual beside him...the individuals around him...Sephiroth forced himself to refocus on the screen. The wand descended...and at first there was nothing. He felt the smallest iota of relief-which was brainless really-and he entertained the glorious idea that perhaps he had some type of parasite. Hojo redirected the instrument in his hand; the picture blurred somewhat, and he vaguely acknowledged his kidneys. Then...like the sun bursting over the horizon...the wand paused and pressed down, and it felt like all the air was sucked out of his lungs. He was accosted-at once-with a feeling of existential terror and exhilaration; which coagulated in his psyche until he couldn’t control the tiny...pained exclamation that left his mouth without thought.

Because there...it was _there_...the baby was there and it was so, so small, and so incredibly fragile and _human_. And something so infinitesimally insignificantly miniscule should not have such an effect on him...but it was like someone had yanked his soul out of his body only to have it hover...shivering, naked, and devoid of logical thought somewhere between himself and the being on the monitor. It was a fearsome feeling, like falling from a great height only to be left hurtling downwards into an endless oblivion. If he squinted hard enough, he thought he could make out the slope of a nose that was so much like Genesis’ that it made his chest hurt and his sinuses coagulate. Ten toes...ten fingers and a perfectly round head that was shifting somewhat under the slight inward invasion of the ultrasound. And he could _feel_ the responsive movement as such...and it was _different_ ; being able to see and feel it at the same time.

“It’s a girl” Hojo muttered, sounding disappointed...and for some reason that bothered him.

How could he be _disappointed_ with something that was so incredibly beautiful? And Sephiroth was sure that Genesis would be positively bawling his eyes out at this point, because a _girl_. Inwardly, some small remaining logical part of him acknowledged that he was relieved that there was only one baby. He had been under the misapprehension that he might be capable of making several babies at once, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle that. But this...this was simple and sweet in the way that only something like this could be. And it was the best of circumstances in the worst of situations but he couldn’t stop staring, stop looking hungrily at the life he and his partner had created thrown into fuzzy but undeniable relief on a computer screen.

It took him a while to come back to reality.

A reality where he was practically falling off the exam table to look at the screen. A reality where several of the techs were looking like they’d just realized how inhumane the thing that they’d signed up for was. A reality where Hojo was smirking a kind of smug, manipulative smirk that indicated that Sephiroth had given him exactly what he’d wanted. A reality where Genesis was not next to him experiencing this moment. A reality where he would very likely never get to hold the baby on the monitor. A reality where he was equally likely to die before he ever saw her face. A reality where Shinra had abandoned him to this, where his mother had perished...possibly in the same manner...possibly wishing she could simply _hold_ him beforehand. A reality where a regime took children from mothers and cast them aside like they were less than human.

He didn’t think.

In retrospect, he wasn’t going to get very far regardless, but he had to try or he was going to hate himself until the day he died...which was looking sooner rather than later. So when he sent the P6 flying the idea that this was a fruitless effort didn’t cross his mind. His only thought was that this was _not_ what he wanted...that he couldn’t-in good conscience-condone this for the sake of his family. Because that was what he had...a _family_. A living, breathing family as he’d never known before. And the idea was as terrifying as it was exhilarating because as much as he had it, he had as much propensity to _lose_ it. There was a part of him, a suddenly fierce and virulent part of him that refused to let that happen.

Sephiroth made it halfway down the hall before pain exploded in the back of his skull.

The butt of the automatic retreated and he wavered for a moment before dropping like a stone; lights bursting in front of his eyes as he registered that someone had thrown something soft in front of him to keep him from falling too hard. Hojo’s shrill laughter echoed down the corridor as several of the guards cocked their weapons, helmeted faces obscuring whatever expressions they might have. It was a perfunctory gesture, they wouldn’t shoot him and risk the ire of their employer. Crooked, twisted fingers yanked his head back by the hair and he snarled as hot, stale breath bloomed over his right ear.

“Keep in mind that we don’t need you _cognizant_ to allow you to carry to full term” the scientist hissed. “We have the technology to render you clinically brain-dead and keep the fetus viable.” Sephiroth swallowed against the sense of terror that flooded his mouth, forcing himself to go lax, to slump forward. The hand in his hair tightened further and tears sprung to his eyes. “Did you really _think_ you were going anywhere?” A yank and the hiss of breath that slid between his teeth was as humiliating as it was automatic. “A girl” Hojo continued, his tone sickeningly smooth, mockingly thoughtful. “I wonder if she’ll be anything like your mother.” He couldn’t help it, he stiffened again, the bespectacled madman was still talking. “Hopefully not...Lucrecia was pathetically weak.”

The enraged vociferation that escaped him seemed to be dredged up from the very depths of his soul; borne on a black wave of despair and hopelessness that seemed to take him from behind and swallow him whole. He lunged for his ‘father’ but it was too late, he was already being dragged back to his cell as the man in question stood in the hallway and watched, laughing riotously. When he was finally there, they shoved him inside and slammed the door so quickly that it was like he’d never left. But he had. He had, and he had seen. He’d seen _her._ And Sephiroth was a not a weak individual; he was resilient in many, many things...but this was more than he could ever hope to handle. So when he stumbled once, twice, and then let himself sink to the floor of his prison...it was only because he’d reached his physical and psychological limit.

It only occurred to him much later that Hojo had had absolutely zero reaction to the fact that he had a granddaughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I really struggled with if I wanted Sephiroth to be attached to the baby. I don't know why. I think because it's not extremely Sephiroth? But in terms of this fic, I think that it worked...because you have so many aspects of Sephiroth that we don't really know about. Realistically, I'm not sure if I'm making him OOC, so please, please let me know if I do.  
>  On another note, my A/Ns may not be as lengthy, I think I'm a bit down atm, so I don't have much to say. Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> **R &R**


	3. Chapter 3

Genesis was fairly sure that he was going to kill someone before the board meeting was adjourned.

Sitting in the all-too-familiar conference room outside of Debriefing, the Commander grit his teeth as his Zack waxed near-poetic on their ‘success at Fort Condor.’ He wasn’t entirely sure if _success_ was the right word for it. All they’d done was salvage shitty, outdated equipment and dissolve the body of a little girl in a pool of raw mako. Tactfully-or maybe cleverly-Angeal’s ward had left that detail out of the report. Bitterly, the redhead acknowledged that there was no chance Administration didn’t know about it; the techs were required to report back on his status and the status of the mission every four hours. No, the Brass was simply choosing not to acknowledge it at all. Because it was far easier to pretend that it had never happened than to notify the grieving parents and face the possibility of legal action.

He didn’t know why it bothered him so much.

Disposing of potential liabilities wasn’t exactly a new theme in terms of Shinra. Genesis had rolled countless bodies into obscure and nameless pits during the Grasslands War. It had never bothered him then. Thinking back, maybe he’d been right when he said it was something that _’comes with age’_. Then again, he didn’t remember any of his senior officers suffering from some form of survivor’s guilt, so maybe it was just him. Because apparently his brain had decided to grow a conscience; and it _sucked_. Shifting in the hard, high-backed seat, the redhead glanced sideways at Lazard, who narrowed his eyes at him through his spectacles before looking elsewhere. Sighing, he folded his arms and dug his heel into the rough-carpeted flooring. The President was saying something gracious, egregious and greasy and he simply didn’t have the time for it. Zack had sat back down looking as cheerful as ever and they moved on to the next obscure topic.

Genesis didn’t know why he was there.

He was forbidden to speak up during meetings, but the Brass insisted it was best he be present. The Commander had the sneaking suspicion it was to try and ease him into a false sense of security and authority...mitigating him to do something hot headed and extremely stupid. Genesis was not stupid. He’d been a member of SOLDIER for over a decade and he wasn’t about to try to cross Administration somewhere obvious. No, he had his cards in place, and he would happily wait to play his hand when it was safe to do so. Intelligence could throw as many moves his way as they wanted; he was going to take his time and do this right. Because-realistically-Genesis had _one shot_ , and he was not going to waste that shot by losing his temper or getting careless or becoming impatient. Regardless of his state of mind, there were too many lives at stake, and he wasn’t going to waste lives to save one life.

Frowning, the blue-eyed first nodded absentmindedly at Tseng as he sailed into the room. The man in question didn’t return the gesture, preferring to station himself behind Lazard without a glance in his direction. That mentality didn’t-of course-make his desire to act rashly any easier to control. He knew there was a good possibility that Sephiroth had already given birth, that the child they had created had already been sequestered away somewhere dark and secret and unhappy. The mere thought was often nearly enough to make him draw Rapier and start tearing the facility apart, but he withheld by some small miraculous sense of preservation for the sake of perseverance. Nothing made it easier, but it did make it rational and mature. Genesis tried to tell himself that that was a good thing. It didn’t always work.

“Meeting dismissed.”

The scarlet-haired FIRST blinked in surprise when the scrape of chairs indicated the egress of all those involved in this particular conference. Having been lost in thought, he wasn’t entirely positive that he knew what it had been about. No one had addressed him directly, however, so he supposed it couldn’t have been that important. A gloved hand on his shoulder gave him pause, and he looked up to grimace bitterly at Zack, who tilted his head before clapping his back perfunctorily and retreating somewhat so the redhead could stand. The President and his cronies filed past them as he did so, but Shinra’s top executive didn’t spare either of them a word or glance; preferring to disappear in the direction of the elevator. Genesis was fine with that; he didn’t have anything positive to say to the pudgy man regardless. Administration and Intelligence were strangely mute when it came to him these days, but he didn’t let himself get bent out of shape about it. If he were entirely honest with himself it was a nice change compared to _’do this!’_ and _’do that!’_ and _’don’t ask questions while you’re doing it!’_

It was therefore a bit of a suprise when Tseng hovered at the edges of the room, watching as the rest of the attendees exited before approaching him with a somber expression. Zack was quick to step forward but Genesis shook his head and raised an eyebrow. As the SECOND retreated, Tseng stopped before him and opened his mouth.

“I regret to inform you that your mother is dying.”

It seemed as if the room had become impossibly large. The walls seemed to expand outwards even as his vision shrunk inwards. A part of him indignantly wondered why this couldn’t wait; why the Turk had chosen to inform him in a public space...in front of his guard. When the redhead partially collapsed and Zack lunged forward to catch him, his eyes an agony of indignance and worry...he understood. Fair-in the eyes of the Turks-was his closest form of support...and he supposed it was somewhat true. Even as he pushed the younger man away from him with a heedless snarl, Genesis attempted to compartmentalize the news laid before him...one hand rising to cover his mouth as he braced himself on unsteady feet.

Realistically, Circinae had never been a good mother...indulgent maybe, simpering, yes. But they’d been trying to repair things in the past few months. He’d flown out to see her once, and she’d come to see him when he was still on suspension. His father was blessedly absent both times and their hours together were filled with laughter...if a little bit tense. Circinae had adopted an experiment with full knowledge of what she was getting herself into...of what she’d be hiding. It shouldn’t have affected him so much...but it did. Tseng was still talking.

“...Funeral arrangements have been made in advance, and you’ve been given a week’s leave to attend. It is my understanding that she asked to be flown to a hospital on the Upper Plate, Fair has been cleared to accompany you-”

_”-How?”_ Genesis snapped, cutting him off.

For the second time in his life, the redhead was privy to seeing the usually impassive agent falter. Tseng’s expression grew indeterminably weary, and his shoulders slumped somewhat.

“...By all appearances she was beaten during a robbery” he said tonelessly. “Rhapsodos Sr. is said to have been out during the time it occurred, and his alibis are sound.”

Their eyes met, and the communication that passed between them was clear. Circinae had been beaten to irreparable lengths by her husband. There were no fucking burglars, and the crime scene was hastily staged. People were paid off to back up Genesis’ father and his mother would go into her grave with the truth untold...with her demise unjustified. The rage that rose with this unspoken truth was nearly enough to unhinge him entirely. Vaguely, he was aware of the fact that Tseng had reached for his gun and Zack was crouched in preparation to restrain him should he try anything ridiculous. The Commander was fairly certain there was a platoon of SOLDIERs stationed outside the door should anything go awry. With great effort, the redhead turned his thoughts from those of murder to those of his mother...his mother who was lying in a hospital bed alone, somewhere in Midgar. Sucking in a deep, unrelenting breath, the blue-eyed FIRST straightened and schooled his face into neutrality. Looking the Turk square in the eyes he uttered the first three words that came to mind;

“Where is she?”

* * *

 

Circinae Rhapsodos was in the ICU of Esuna General.

It took Genesis maybe an hour to get there, and the traffic was horrendous. Every time the taxi stopped to wallow amongst a myriad of similar vehicles the redhead was accosted with the urge to jump out of it and run the rest of the way. It would certainly be faster, but it would also certainly kill him, because the escort sent with him had been specifically designed after Sephiroth’s ‘fall’ to take him down at the slightest hint of disobedience. Zack was uncharacteristically silent, staring out the window next to him with an unreadable expression. Occasionally the younger man would glance his way, but the Commander ignored it in favor of keeping his anxiety in check. Every once in a while, the dark-haired SECOND’s phone would go off, and the scarlet-haired soldier knew it was Angeal. The man in question had been shipped off as soon as Genesis returned, which honestly didn’t surprise him. Administration didn’t like them speaking with each other, and their time together was fairly limited regardless.

Esuna was on the Western side of the Upper Plate; nestled between several towering parking garages and two hotels. The Commander had never been there himself, but he knew that mortally wounded SOLDIERs occasionally requested to be airlifted there so their families could visit them outside the confines of HQ during their final hours. Exteriorly, it was what one would expect of a medical facility; inside...everything was different. Genesis was struck by the stark contrast between it and the hallways of the Science Division at HQ. Cheerful pictures hung in every corner; along with informative and helpful medical charts. Here and there guides were stationed to help lost patients or family members. The front desk was strewn with flowers of different shapes and colors; some of them with name tags and room numbers. It was-in effect-like stepping into an entirely different world. Glancing to the left, the redhead noticed three great floor to ceiling windows inlaid with a single door...painted with balloons and storks and the words _maternity_ in cheerful, yellow letters. His heart clenched and he forced himself to look away...because that...that would never be. Upon his entry, several of healthcare staff gave him curious looks, but were apparently professional enough not to approach him.

“Circinae Rhapsodos.”

The woman at the front desk was elderly and kindly looking. She reminded him painfully of Itrine, but the blue-eyed first pushed the thought to the side to focus on the task at hand. Pushing up a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles, the receptionist simply smiled and nodded; turning to the computer screen without a single glance at Zack or the rest of his escorts. After a minute, she paused and her smile dropped somewhat before she swiveled to face him again...her expression sympathetic. Genesis braced himself for pity...for false reassurance, but it didn’t come. Instead, she gestured to the right before speaking.

“Floor five, dear. I’ve asked a nurse to meet you there.” Surprised, the redhead merely nodded and she smiled again. “Thank you for visiting.”

The elevator was far too small to fit a Commander, a Sergeant, and six Cadets but they managed it. On the way up, Genesis vaguely wondered it it was possible to squash your intestines so hard that you’d never be able to digest anything again. It was a relief to step out into the relative spaciousness of the foyer of the ICU. A nurse was indeed waiting for them; she introduced herself as Olyel and merely asked that they follow her. The blue-eyed FIRST tried not to concentrate on the various doors they passed as they headed to his mother’s room. It was hard, however, to ignore how the individuals within were clearly dying.

At least half were on ventilators and the other half were semi-conscious and staring into nothingness. Some were attended by family but others were clearly alone and afraid. The dull, desperate eyes that sought their group were starved for human affection, and the redhead felt his heart clench at the thought that Circinae had been starved for affection since she’d married his father. Her room was at the far end of the hall; unadorned except for a placard bearing the Rhapsodos name. Ignoring it, Genesis gestured pleadingly for his entourage to wait outside. To his somewhat sincere surprise, they did.

His mother's room was-for all intents and purposes-quite spacious. The bed was situated on the far wall...next to the window. At some point, someone must have brought her flowers, because there was a vase and a card. It didn't seem like Shikro had bothered to bring his wife any of the things she loved; there wasn't a single book or a piece of stationery in sight. Further observation brought forth the evidence that she did even have a suitcase. It was very clear that whoever had brought her there had known it would be a one way trip.

...And they'd certainly been right.

It didn't look like a single inch of Circinae’s skin wasn't covered in bruises. Blue, purple, blackish-plum haloed in inky red, they made a tapestry of hurt on her arms and upwards still until they disappeared into her scrubs. Several of those delicate, once-fluttering fingers were situated in splints...they were still, limp and lifeless across sky-colored sheets. That face Genesis knew so we'll was equally battered, and a bandage was wrapped somewhat haphazardly around her head. It appeared that someone had combed her hair and brought it to the front in a silver-gold waterfall tied painstakingly at the base of her neck. The Commander could see the beginnings of yet another bandage at her chest; wrapping all the way 'round in strips of creamy gauze and pale medical tape. He didn't need to look to be able to tell that that was where the major damage had occurred; her irriguous, labored breathing told him enough.

It was strange to see her without makeup.

Approaching the bed...Genesis acknowledged that Circinae was pale, and that the lines on her face were deeper than they used to be. His mind had forever immortalized his adoptive mother as an ethereal creature, inundated with grace and free of the ravages of time. Lace, chiffon and painted lips...pearls and diamonds...laughter like the softest of sighs...that was the mother in his mind. The individual who lay on the bed before him shattered that illusion, left it ground into dust only to swallow it and vomit it back out as something of dotage...of age and despair and decades of pain. Because Circinae Rhapsodos knew pain...of all the things she might have known...pain was the most prevalent.

Sinking into the armchair next to the bed, Genesis put his head in his hands. As a child, he'd never been privy to understanding what the woman lying next to him was going through. If she moved too slowly, didn't want to play with him...let Itrine take over her motherly duties... he'd always assumed it was a because she thought she was above such things. Even when he'd last visited, she'd come up with some half-assed excuse for her neglect; blamed it on his father. ...And it was his father, it was just his father beating her….not forbidding her to 'spoil’ him...as she'd tried to claim. He'd ignored it, told himself that she still could have tried...but it was hard to try doing anything when the man who claimed to love you dragged you to the bedroom to beat you senseless every night. Left you bleeding and broken and wondering what you'd done this time...when in truth...you’d done nothing. _Nothing at all._

“...Gen?”

It hurt to hear her voice. Not because he abhorred it...he'd never been able to truly hate her...but because it was so utterly broken, so defeated. A soft, bandaged hand carded through Genesis’ hair, clutched at strands until he had to grit his teeth to keep from sobbing because he had _longed_ for her to touch him like that as a child...fallen onto his ratty, skinny knees and scrabbled at her skirts for attention. And Genesis was _angry_ because she could have taken him away, could have run somewhere safe and he wouldn't have cared.. wouldn't have minded or wanted for anything because he'd only wanted her. At the same time, the Commander acknowledged that Circinae couldn't have done anything... couldn't have run because of who he was...where he'd come from. And she had endured because doing otherwise would likely have killed them both. The realization of that truth was the most painful of all, because Genesis was tired of hurting people, tired of unwittingly leading others to their doom simply by existing. Raising his head, the scarlet-haired soldier looked at her, _truly_ looked at her...at her tired but determined eyes and her tentative, bruised and broken face. Genesis looked at his mother and saw strength. And he loved her for it. Opening his mouth, the blue-eyed soldier took the hand in his hair...gingerly, carefully...and cupped it between both of his own.

“Thank you” he said hoarsely.

Circinae understood. He knew she did, because the minute the words were out his mouth her eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled before she appeared to gather herself; taking a deep breath and smiling in a watery sort of way before the fingers clasped in his palms threaded between his own to stroke the web betwixt thumb and fore.

“How are you?”

It was such a simple question, really. Simple and yet so achingly complicated. Genesis’ mind flashed to Aerith-his sister-who he'd only recently been reunited with, growing flowers in a little dilapidated church in the Slums. He thought of Angeal, who had tried so hard to be there for him during his suspension despite his flagrant vitriol and constant nastiness. The Commander recalled all the books he had ordered...on fatherhood, on maternity and gestation. There had to be dozens piled around his apartment...mountains of volumes...towers of tombs...he'd read all of them. _Poured_ over them in the depths of night when the thought of being alone was too much. Genesis had followed the projected path of Sephiroth's pregnancy like the most desperate of fangirls...just to do anything to stay close to him...to try to understand what he was going through. Genesis thought of the ache that seemed to gnaw at him from morning 'till evening...of the loneliness consuming his soul.

“....I'm going to be a father.”

Whatever Circinae had been expecting...it was not that. Those familiar eyes widened, she gasped and every muscle in her body went still. For a frightening moment, the Commander was concerned that she might be upset, might be angry. Those blonde brows were furrowed in an expression of incredulity that was nearly comical in its severity. Clenching his jaw, the redhead turned away, looked at the floor and prepared himself for the worst. Because he knew his track record preceded him...knew that even as far away as Banora his romantic dalliances weren't exactly a secret. For what felt like the millionth time, he regretted not being more circumspect. Because even if he didn't personally care about how many faceless individuals he'd fucked...his child might.

If he ever met them, that is.

A wild sob drew him back to the present. Genesis jerked upwards and watched with a kind of disbelieving horror as his mother burst into tears. And it wasn't a prim, proper, ladylike cry either; her sobs were ugly, deep and heart wrenching. This was-of course-made even more confusing by the smile that seemed to be trying to wrench its way between each hysterical bawl.

_“Genesis”_ Circinae hiccuped, tears pouring down her cheeks. “Oh, _Genesis,_ I'm so _happy!”_

“You are?!” the redhead demanded, aghast.

His mother laughed, her breath hitching as she did so.

“Yes, _yes_! I'm so happy!”

If this were a tactical scenario, Genesis would have been screaming _’mission abort!’_ , because it had been far too long since he’d dealt with any form of hysterical woman. He was-admittedly-very good at running away from them while they shrieked curses pertaining to his livelihood and his mahood at his naked back, but he had never felt particularly bothered to comfort any of them on his way out. Apple might have been one of the few exceptions; she’d been the one to sashay out the door while he garbled something dazed and nonsensical into the pillows, but Apple wasn’t exactly the type of woman who needed comfort in any case. The President’s secretary was the type that spanked you into orgasm and then left you in a whimpering puddle on the floor. Despairingly, the Commander acknowledged that he had no real knowledge pertaining to assuaging the female sex.

“...I’m sorry?” he ventured queasily.

It took Circinae a few minutes to calm down. By that time, the redhead was sincerely wishing he could simply disappear and reappear when everything had blown over. He knew-however-that he might not have this opportunity again. Despite her ability to show emotion and reciprocate gestures, his adoptive mother was obviously very weak. During her fit of joy-sadness, the woman next to him had gone-if possible-even more pale, and a few seconds later she began to cough. The spell lasted perhaps a minute, and by the time she was done there were dark flecks of blood peppering her upper lip. Tentatively, Genesis handed her a tissue. Slumping into the pillows, the Lady of the Rhapsodos Estate closed her eyes and took several deep, rattling breaths. The blue-eyed first waited patiently, if not a little bit confusedly as she gathered herself.

“Are you happy?”

The redhead wanted to curse, because if the last question had been difficult, this one was about two thousand times more complicated. Because he was over the fucking moon about being a parent-which honestly was surprising-, but he was also really damn devastated in regards to the fact that he might never see them. He was happy because Sephiroth had given him some of the most fantastic months of his entire life, and he was crushed by the fact that Sephiroth was alone and probably dying a slow mental death of boredom and confinement. Genesis was _happy_ that he hadn’t written his mother off as a lost cause, and he was equally livid that his father had basically beaten her to death before he could get to know her. Shaking his head, the Commander chuckled bitterly.

“I don’t really know.”

Circinae’s expression was sad, but compassionate.

“Do you love them?”

Well, that was easy to answer. Taking a deep breath, the scarlet-haired soldier nodded, a small smile pulling the right side of his lip upward.

“Yeah” he murmured. “I do, I _really_ do.”

His mother made a soft, concerned sound that was entirely unhelpful considering his current state of mind.

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to meet them, either of them.”

Genesis went from melancholy to pissed so fast it nearly left him reeling. Because what the hell did Circinae have to be sorry for?! _She_ hadn’t put herself in the bed he was currently sitting next to. She hadn’t accidently fallen down the stairs or tripped over a fucking piano. Nor had she gotten robbed or burgled or mugged or anything of the sort. Shikro Rhapsodos had done this to her, and she was _still_ apologizing for absolutely nothing. The Commander wasn’t sure what hurt him more, the fact that she was still trying to shield him from the truth or the fact that she thought he was actually that stupid.

“Just…” he gritted his teeth. “Just stop….I know what happened, what _really_ happened. It’s not that hard to tell.”

The woman in the bed next to him didn’t seem surprised by his response, that much he could tell. Circinae’s lips tightened and her hands fluttered somewhat before settling on her lap. And the blue-eyed first could tell that she didn’t want to talk about it, which was fine. He didn’t particularly want to talk about it either, but he _did_ want her to stop lying to him.

“Alright” she said quietly.

Her acquiescence didn’t bring him any relief, not really. Not because he didn’t value the response, but because the causation of the whole affair was still out there, still flaunting his wealth without a care in the world. The reality of the situation was as hard a pill to swallow when it was openly acknowledged as when it was blatantly, insultingly ignored. Circinae was still dying because she'd done what any mother would; protected her child. And while it was good to know that he'd been loved unconditionally... irrefutably...the cost was even more painful because of it.

They talked a while more. Genesis spoke of idle things...things he hadn't spoken of in months because he'd been so miserable. His mother had a way of making simple subjects interesting, and he supposed that must have been where he got some of his poetic prowess...from a woman who could turn talk of tableware into a lengthy ballad of bowls. And while they weren't necessarily subjects he himself was interested in, it clearly calmed the woman next to him...so he indulged her. When Circinae's voice petered out he looked up to find that she had fallen asleep, her bruised and battered visage lax...a small smile on her face as her hand hung limp within his. And it was such a _small_ hand...a delicate hand. The rage that he'd been trying to keep at bay rose up in him again. Because how anyone could hurt someone so incredibly selfless was beyond him.

The redhead was buckling Rapier to his belt, fully prepared to escape out of a ventilation shaft to fly to Banora and exact justice upon the man who dared to call himself his father when his phone went off. Gnashing his teeth, the redhead ripped the offending device out of his pocket to flip it open, hastily punching in the access code before squinting at the screen.

**Time: 16:46 _Angeal:_**

_Don't do anything stupid._

**End Message**

Swearing, Genesis strode to the window, putting his cellular device back in his pocket as he did so. Gazing forward at the gaping, somewhat empty maw of a parking garage, the redhead acknowledged that his childhood friend knew him too well. It didn't make him want justice any less...and he would get it, but he would get it _eventually_

The plan in place was tentative, but it would work. They needed to somehow establish Shinra as it ought to have been from the beginning. Either that or dismantle it entirely. The Commander was finding himself increasingly leaning more towards the latter. Angeal was more passionate about saving his men, but the younger of the two of them was starting to get impatient. Whatever the solution might be, it couldn't come fast enough...he was losing too many people in the process. There was a sound from the bed, and Genesis glanced backwards to see that Circinae was awake and watching him. Upon catching his gaze, she smiled tiredly.

“I got some flowers the other day” she murmured. “A nurse brought it up, I think whoever sent it was rather shy. But the note...it seemed like it was for you, darling.”

Frowning, the Commander glanced at the vase of flowers. Immediately, the blue-eyed SOLDIER acknowledged that they were star-shaped, and of varying pastel colors ranging from white, to yellow, to baby blue. Swallowing, the scarlet-haired soldier picked up the card on the table.

_'You don't know me, but I'm a friend of your son. I thought you might like these, I grew them myself! Please tell Genesis to come and see me, I’ve been talking to a friend, and I might have some news about a silver bird he's been looking for._

_-A’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really dissatisfied with this but I've rewritten it three times now, I need to stop. I'm sorry if Tsengs announcement is a bit abrupt.
> 
> This chapter does have a song: "God Went North" by Nothing More
> 
> **R &R**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that in this fic, Tseng is a last name and Shion Tseng is Tseng's full name.

He wasn’t going to sleep.

Shifting under the scratchy, featherweight blanket, Sephiroth opened his eyes, turning his neck to glare through the fabric to the invisible ceiling above. Unconsciousness was futile. Beneath him, the thin pillow he was lying on might as well have been a sack of burlap. He was uncommonly hot and his socks were bothering him. His hair had somehow ended up stuck to the side of his face-more than likely from sweat-and his mouth was dry and somewhat stale tasting. In a different time, in what felt like a different _world_ at this point, he’d have gotten up two hours ago to do paperwork. Because-as far as he was concerned-he would more than likely kill someone for the opportunity to do paperwork right now. He was bored practically to tears ninety-five percent of the time, and the other five percent he was usually apprehensive or furious.

Maybe he could stretch.

With an inward growl, the silver-haired man sat up and scrubbed his fingers through his hair; settling into a cross-legged position...blinking to get the residual sleep out of his eyes. Around him, the lights in the room brightened somewhat in response to his movement. It wasn’t a luxury in terms of his own comfort; no, it was merely the current cameraman’s way of letting him know _he_ knew he was awake and moving about. Sephiroth had never been able to fully discern the source of the spacial luminescence; he only knew it was manually operated and aided surveillance. If he thought about it too long, it bothered him; privacy was important to him...but he tried not to think about it because it wasn't going to do him any good.

Sliding down onto the floor, the silver-haired man gritted his teeth as his scrubs bunched up over his middle; and he tugged them back down before assuming a position to stretch. He would need new ones soon. The idea wasn't attractive at all, but according to Hojo, he was beginning what would amount to month five, and while the changes in his physicality were minimal, nothing given to him initially was going to stay comfortable for very long. He was still reluctant to acknowledge it...even if he’d become irrevocably attached. It was incurably strange to think that his daughter was growing inside him...becoming something more than a bundle of cells...something more than mindless biology. Occasionally, when he was feeling particularly emotional, he would talk to her; they weren’t usually long conversations, but it was comforting to know that someone was listening. And she did listen. When Sephiroth murmured something idle in the dead of night, something about how incredibly hot he was or something silly about Genesis, he always received a soft nudge just under his belly button.  

She knew his voice.

He was fairly positive of it, because no one else garnered such a reaction, and he was only a recipient himself if he spoke directly to her. He immediately chalked it up to heightened intelligence, and immediately afterward felt like a sentimental individual of the opposite sex. Because thinking of a five-month-old fetus as communicatively sentient was borderline insanity. And maybe such sentimentality might have been acceptable in a different situation. But in this particular case...it was not. Because the more attached he got, the more he set himself up for failure...for painful separation. Even now it was more agonizing than he'd have liked to admit...the idea of giving up the life he'd created in order to walk away to die.

More and more, however, he was beginning to think Hojo wouldn't allow that.

The scientist was clearly displeased with the fact that he'd managed to create a daughter. The bespectacled madman muttered discontentedly about it during every ultrasound...voiced his dislike for women clearly and liberally...even when the topic wasn't one of discernable necessity. To his sincere dread, Sephiroth was starting to believe Hojo might simply force him to end gestation and wait until heat had him crawling back to his partner again. It was a real possibility; because while women weren’t technically barred from joining SOLDIER, they were at a distinct physical disadvantage to men. Biologically, mako was unfriendly to the female sex, and while Sephiroth could handle it well...he’d never heard of a woman ever surviving treatment. The fact that he even had to consider his daughter as a potential member of SOLDIER was atrocious, but there was little else for her in this world unless she chose to work for the Turks. The silver-haired FIRST would rather die than let her within a dozen feet of the organization, but he also understood that it was not his decision to make.

Sephiroth’s stomach growled and he scowled furiously.

Just once...he’d have liked something entirely unhealthy to eat. Normally, he wasn’t partial to sweet things, but lately he’d been ruminating over the idea of a peach with borderline-obsessive frequency. None of it really made sense to him, because he actually hated peaches; mostly for being fuzzy and soft and saccharine in a way that made his teeth hurt, but anything was better than the daily regimen of vegetables, unseasoned protein and other tasteless edibles provided by his wards. The General wasn’t known for being particularly picky about what he ate, but he’d have liked a steak...or a plate of chicken that had even the slightest hint of salt. His fearsome nutritionist insisted that making things palatable was merely an evolutionary trait born out of years of boredom. Considering his almost-entirely alien biology, he was disinclined to agree with her. That and the fact that he’d have probably happily gone to bed with several doughnuts at the end of each day. In his opinion, anyone growing anything in their abdominal cavity deserved to eat whatever and as much as they could possibly want.

Logically-when he was feeling logical-he acknowledged that this was a hormone-fueled train of thought.

Sephiroth also acknowledged that Genesis would have no problem with letting him eat what he wanted, and would likely happily be mitigating the process of him getting exceedingly overweight. Then again, _Genesis_ was just as likely to have put him in a large pillow fort; sequestering him away somewhere beautiful whilst screaming at anyone who dared to get too close to him. The idea made him feel wonderful in a horrible way; a way that made him wish he had Masamune, a training room, and several targets to smash to pieces. Because the day he went soft in the head was apparently fast-approaching. Sephiroth was not the pining type, but childbearing evidently wiped the table of all concepts of masculinity and left the individual in question a sexually deviant, attention-seeking miscreant with a sweet tooth. He repressed these urges liberally, whenever he could; but the fact that he was actively seeking out conversations with his nutritionist was not a good sign. Lack of sociability was making him incredibly suggestible and he didn’t like to think what a few more months might do to him.

Then there was the possibility that Genesis might not want their daughter at all.

The General had mulled this over in particularly morbid moments...when the ache of missing the redhead was so strong he simply wanted to curl up in a corner and disappear. The last time he and the blue-eyed first had discussed children, the older man had made it very clear that he didn’t want any. On the off-chance that he did escape, there was the very real possibility that his lover might turn both of them away. The mere idea of something like that occurring was crushing...but he accepted it as a possibility...because assumption led to terrible, horrible things. When he’d assumed Genesis was dead he’d killed thousands of people as a result...he would not make the same mistakes again.

Sephiroth worked his way through a few stretches before exhaustion crashed down on him like a tidal wave. This was becoming more common as well; he grew tired far faster, and with far less exertion than he used to. He also never slept as well as he possibly could have on a fully functional bed, leaving a pall of weariness hanging over him on a near-constant basis. More and more often he found himself retiring earlier, finding less motivation to figure out what he could do with his mind. The other day, he'd gotten one of his books back, but he was so exhausted he'd lain down to take a nap and woken up to breakfast. Exercise was becoming less of an enjoyment and more of an obligation, but he kept it up. Not necessarily because he wanted to but because it kept his body and mind active, and he slept better on his unnecessarily uncomfortable cot when he’d gotten an hour of physical activity.

He’d fallen into a restless slumber-back against the cot-when the door to his cell swung open, and his designated escorts came spilling in. Thrown from the precipice of unconsciousness, Sephiroth jolted upright and looked wildly around; glaring when a tech pushed through with his hands up and what the silver-haired man assumed was supposed to be a comforting expression. It wasn’t. The later he got into the stages of gestation, the more deference he was shown by the assistants. They didn’t talk to him outside of obligatory interaction, ever, but they were still more careful with him. In different circumstances, he might have found it comforting, but he knew they were only ensuring he didn’t distress himself for the sake of the baby. And while he was attached to the baby he didn’t particularly care whether he was treated nicely for scientific reasons or not.

Frowning, the General forced himself to stand, blinking sleep out of his eyes as the tech informed him he was due for an appointment. This only confused him further, because his internal clock was telling him it was very, _very_ early in the morning. Someone offered him a bottled water and he took it automatically, desperately, because he was hardly ever free to choose whether he wanted anything or not. They let him gather himself for a few minutes more before shunting him out of the cell and into the hallway. Tucking the plastic container into the front pocket of his scrubs, the green-eyed first stepped out into the chilly exterior air to come face to face with Tseng.

It took him a moment to recognize who he was.

When he did, Sephiroth wasted absolutely no time in grabbing him by the collar only to be pulled back by a guard.

_”You!”_ he spat, struggling against his captor as the tech began to try to calm him down. Shion’s face didn’t change, but his eyes did drift to his middle with a kind of idle curiosity. The silver-haired man felt his face flush with humiliation, because he was _tired_ of being a curiosity. “Seen enough?” the General sneered. “Satisfied with the freak show?” He was accosted with a feeling of reeling despair that nearly brought him to his knees. “You have a lot of nerve-” he began only to cut himself off as his head swung forward...as his hair spilled forth to hide his visage. “You’ve got what you wanted,” he said in a low, grating voice. “Now report back to Veld like a good dog and get out of my face.”

A delighted chuckle, high-pitched and teetering on the edges of insanity brought him up short. Hojo’s lab coat was a shock of ivory in the dim lighting, but the sight of it wasn’t a herald of assuagement. Not that his face had ever been a herald of assuagement Sephiroth thought grimly as Tseng stepped back and he was pushed forward. The scientist before him put his hands behind his back in a mock-thoughtful gesture; greasy grey hair falling to obscure his grinning mug. The green-eyed man wondered-in a moment of hysterical panic-if his hair was going to be in such a state of disrepair when he reached that age.

“Tseng is here to monitor your progress for the President” Hojo sneered, gesturing for them to continue forward. “And considering recent developments, we have...options to consider.”

_Options._

As they walked, the silver-haired man wondered with a sort of vague foreboding what sort of options they were talking about. At this point, he knew better than to ask questions; staying quiet often provided him with more information than looking for it vocally. Hojo was notorious for dangling tidbits of intelligence before his eyes to see if he’d take the bait...when he did, he was usually disappointed. Instead of going to the labs they took a sharp right, into a room with nothing but a scattered assortment of various chairs. The immediate area was simple, white-washed and vaguely nondescript...with no adornments or decorations to speak of. Shoved into an armchair directly next to the door, Sephiroth tried not to think about what could possibly come next. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Shion took a seat directly across from him whilst Hojo did the same. The majority of his guard left; leaving him with only two and a tech. Once the entryway had been shut, his ward spoke.

“So, you’ve seen him” the bespectacled lunatic snapped. “Is the President in agreement with my decision?”

Tseng was silent, his eyes flitting from Hojo to Sephiroth as if calculating his next move.

“If this is done,” he said tonelessly. “Are we guaranteed another viable specimen?”

It felt like his stomach dropped out from under him.

Sephiroth physically felt the color drain from his face as the room spun. He heard himself make a low, disbelieving noise as his hand came up reflexively to cover the protrusion at his middle. At the last minute, he was able to stop himself, clenching his fingers around the arm of the chair as he made to get up-to get away-before he was shoved roughly down again. The baby shuffled minutely, as if sensing his distress, and the sense of horror encompassing him intensified.

_”No”_ he breathed, and the pleading...supplicative sound of his voice was as humiliating as it was sincere.

Hojo shot him a scornful glance.

“You don’t even know what we’re discussing” he scoffed.

And the General wanted to laugh, or cry, or kill everyone in the room because did they really think he was that _stupid?_. The doctor before him had been bemoaning the sex of his child for weeks. A child that could feasibly never be a member of SOLDIER, a child who might die the minute she was injected with mako. The President had only condoned his survival because he was a viable breeding machine for better, more enhanced initiates. He didn't cost as much money as the numerous subjects did, and once his usefulness expired he was just as easy to throw away

When Sephiroth rose to the defensive again he was somewhat more successful; the tech and one of the guards were down in less than a second, bleeding profusely from some area or another. The other guard was quick to load his rifle with a tranquilizer but Tseng stepped between; shoving the silver-haired man roughly backwards while kicking his legs out from under him. The General landed back in the chair and was forced to forgo combat in order to keep himself steady. As he did this, six more guards entered the room... effectively pinning him in place. The tech and the downed guard were led away by a nurse he'd never seen before and didn't care to see again.

“I know what you're doing” Sephiroth spat, still struggling even as his vision swam from overexertion. “I won't condone it, it's inhumane, unethical-!”

Hojo threw his head back and laughed.

“Unethical?” he cackled. “Inhumane? Where did you get the ridiculous idea that I was humane?” The bespectacled lunatic leaned forward. “As for _condoning_ ; whether or not you condone it or not doesn't matter very much, does it?”

Shion was silent and Sephiroth wanted to rip that impassive expression off his face. Because he had _worked_ with Tseng. They'd fielded missions together, worked on intelligence-related documents together; both of them had taken a long time to develop a good rapport because of their ties to the company. And here he was, sitting blank-faced in a chair discussing the possibility of killing an unborn child without the consent of the parents. The General swore to every known deity that if that happened, there wouldn't be a single corner of the world where the Turk could hide well enough. He would find him and exact his revenge.

“Give me something to work with.”

It took him a moment to realize Tseng was talking to him. The dark-suited man’s posture and voice were neutral, but facing away from Hojo his eyes were pleading. And it would have been comforting to have an ally at that moment except for the fact that Shion was as much of a slave as he was...to Veld...to Shinra. The agent was merely a go-between and nothing more. So what could Sephiroth possibly give him to ensure his daughter survived? Lost, the silver-haired man reeled in a sea of despair before the dark-haired man spoke again.

“On a broad spectrum, the President won't take anything else.”

Sephiroth understood.

He understood but he didn't _like_ it. After all, no parent wanted to use their child as a bargaining chip. But he was not a parent...was more than likely unfit to be a parent...so the only thing he could do was ensure that his daughter survived. And that would be all she would do...survive. Day in and day out, his daughter would fight for her right to exist, her right to breathe the air between earth and sky. She would never meet him, possibly never meet Genesis. He’d be lucky if he got to give her a name. In a haze of absentminded panic, the green-eyed soldier realized that he hadn’t even thought of one...hadn’t even considered the possibility of naming the slowly growing individual inside of him. But he couldn’t-he wouldn’t-! Desperate, despairing, Sephiroth sagged against his captors, trembling with the effort of it. And he _hated_ himself for his physical weakness...for being less than he used to be because of a condition he didn't ask for...a body he didn’t want.

“She could join the Turks,” he said hoarsely. “I would…” Sephiroth swallowed thickly, fought back the grief that threatened to strangle him alive. “I would _guarantee_ her placement there.”

“You can't guarantee anything” Hojo snapped, but his expression was thoughtful.

“Having an individual with advanced biology would greatly help our division” Tseng commented, turning back to the scientist. “An alien mind...a Cetra mind...the possibilities of her usefulness are endless.” He stood. “I would need to run it by Veld, of course, but you would be compensated handsomely, and her medical care would fall to you, of course. Cases might be resolved much more quickly, which would leave the company open to the transfer of greater funding for your projects. Our budget takes up a third of Shinra’s yearly spending, but with what amounted to a hybrid in our numbers, the workload would be cut in half, as it was when Sephiroth joined the SOLDIER program some time ago. The President appreciates efficiency, if anything, this would be a testament to your work.”

Sephiroth's ward was apparently still thinking. The General was accosted with the urge to shake him until he came to a decision. He knew-of course-that such action would result in the direct opposite of what he desired, so he refrained. Every facet of his being abhorred the idea; it was manipulative and cruel...and it gave his unborn child no choices for her future...but she hadn’t had many choices from the moment she was conceived. Clenching his jaw, the silver-haired man ducked his head. Her _conception_ in of itself hadn’t been a choice.

“I'd want neurological reports, performance reports, intelligence and aptitude tests” Hojo snapped.

“We'd expect nothing less” Shion murmured, inclining his head.

“Very well” the bespectacled lunatic muttered, pushing his glasses up and standing as well. “I suppose this might be interesting.”

_'Interesting.’_

That was one word for it, Sephiroth thought bitterly. As he was ushered out of the chair and ferried back into the hallway, he noticed an open door to his left. Inside was what appeared to be a fully equipped surgical unit. Hojo had been prepared to rid himself of a useless specimen. Right there, right then. The silver-haired SOLDIER pushed the nausea that rose with the realization down...shoved it behind an emotionless mask even as his soul shriveled within him. He'd just-essentially-sold his unborn child to the Turks. Rationalizing it in terms of her longevity didn't help in the least. The self-loathing inside of him was palatable because he had sworn to never put himself or anyone he cared about in this position; a position of helplessness, of loss and need to barter.

_'Interesting.’_

It was the same word everyone had used to describe him as a child. Whenever he manifested a different prowess in the labs or reacted unusually to this or that experiment. Never _'good job’_ or _'well done’_...praise was a fairytale thing. The first time someone complimented him, he'd just come back from a long entrenchment; and the forebearer of such praise was the President. He'd stood there stupidly, covered head to toe in mud and blood with his rucksack until Lazard hissed at him that the proper reply was _'thank you’_. Sephiroth didn't want his child to suffer from such ignorance...to live a life devoid of compliments and appreciation. Turning desperately to Tseng, who had joined the guard in escorting him back to his cell for obscure and unknown reasons, he put his pride aside and opened his mouth.

“Tell her when she does something well” the silver-haired soldier deadpanned.

For a fraction of a second, the agent's expression crumbled, and the General was privy of seeing Shion look like a man who'd just had Hell placed on his shoulders and been left to burn from the head down. He didn't reply at length...not until they were at the door to his padded prison. When the hinges had swung to their full extent, the dark-haired Turk reached into his pocket and produced a dumbapple. Far from being any type of response or reaction he’d expected, the green-eyed first stepped back somewhat and looked suspiciously at it....even as his stomach voiced its immense approval of such an offering for absolutely everyone to hear. At the same time, the familiarity of it, its association brought heated moisture to his eyes...nostalgia to the tip of his tongue. Because there was only one person the man before him could have gotten a dumbapple from. One of the techs stepped forward to intervene, to protest, but Tseng was faster.

“On your head,” he said frostily, and the threat was clear. Dark eyes circled the gathered assembly of techs and guards. “On _all_ your heads.” The tech retreated and the fruit was proffered once more. This time, Sephiroth took it; snatched it really...afraid if he hesitated too long he wouldn’t get another chance. Straightening, the agent nodded perfunctorily before sending another ominous glance at the individuals around them. “General.”

He left, and Sephiroth was shoved roughly into his cell with his prize clutched tightly to his chest; staring at the blank and unforgiving walls...feeling as if they were caving in upon him, even as the tiniest sliver of hope bloomed in his chest. Looking at the purple gift in his palm...the silver-haired wasn’t entirely sure he could bring himself to eat it.

In the end, he did.

It just took him three days to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** So we're sort of getting somewhere, the dumbapple is relevant and will likely be explained in the next chaper. Thanks for reading!
> 
> **R &R**


	5. Chapter 5 (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Some initial themes at the beginning that may seem really upsetting. I apologize in advance.

The funeral was a week later.

Genesis didn’t go, he figured there wasn’t much of a point. He and Circinae had already said their goodbyes, and he wanted his memories of her to consist of recollections of when she was alive. He didn’t need the mental picture of looking down at her lifeless body in a coffin. Truthfully, he didn’t understand why viewings were a thing at all. The concept of staring at a corpse was foreign to him...macabre in its entirety. All personal misgivings aside, he didn’t receive an invitation; and that was usually a solid communication that he should stay away...especially in terms of his father. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d have been able to restrain himself from wringing his adoptive sire’s neck, so he was happily absent. Of course his heart-in a fit of rampant hypocrisy-insisted that he _should_ be there, that he _deserved_ to be there. Because his mother would have wanted him to be there. This was entirely untrue; Circinae had repeatedly insisted that she didn't want him anywhere near it, but that didn't stop him from trying to emotionally rationalize it. Which was had led him to where he was at the current moment.

Mainly, in Garter’s and Gorgon’s so fucking drunk he could barely see straight. 

It was a piss-poor decision for him to have left HQ under any circumstances, but he couldn't stand being around Angeal's righteous and honor-bound attitude anymore. Realistically, he should have been happy his best friend was back, and that they had both been coordinated to stay at Headquarters at the same time...but he wasn't. Because Angeal was hell-bent on comforting him in any way possible and he just couldn't stand it anymore. Genesis knew he meant well, and that he wanted to help, but long-winded diatribes regarding how they would _'honor her memory by remembering the value of self-sacrifice’_ made him want to kill everyone in the building. So he left, and he surprisingly got rather far. He still had a tail-obviously, Shinra was letting his leash out, not letting him free-range-but it was a discreet tail and he was sincerely thankful for it.

Taking a long sip of whatever the hell he'd ordered, the redhead watched as the bass quartet on the gaudy stage switched to a more mellow number. Blue, yellow, green and purple paint shimmered iridescently against the lacquered wood of their instruments, hiding the resin on their bows under dark wood and thrumming stanzas. Feathers of similar color hung in knotted hemp bangles down the arc of scrolls; tuning pegs were carven ivory trinkets forming the shape of owls, turtles, and fish. The stage was somewhat upwards from everything else; framed by maroon velvet curtains with golden tassels...waxed mahogany flooring 'neath blazing lights and whatever performer made their place there. Tacky, yes...timeless, moreso. Not overly large like some of the larger clubs nearer to the center of the Plate. When he was younger, places like this were less of a haven and more of a curiosity...but he couldn’t stand the press of the crowds anymore and he was more appreciative of the artistry than the carnality at this point. 

It had been an exceedingly long time since he’d been anywhere for leisurely entertainment, and Genesis was surprised to find that he didn’t enjoy it half as much as he used to. Maybe it was because every aspect of his life was extremely fucked up, but he was more inclined to blame it on his physicality. Angeal had once commented something poetically disgusting about the 'pleasures and leisures that fetter with age.’ At the time he'd scoffed; because twenty-three year old Genesis Rhapsodos was immortal...or so he'd thought. Twenty-three year old Genesis Rhapsodos could run drills all day long and party the night away and fuck anyone who insisted otherwise. Twenty-three year old Genesis Rhapsodos was going to screw whoever he wanted and damn the consequences. Slamming down the remainder of his drink, the scarlet-haired man attempted to pour himself another from the bottle but gave it up for a lost cause and drank straight from the neck. 

“You look like someone who could drown your sorrows in something more than the bottom of your glass.”

Swiveling on his barstool with difficulty, Genesis swayed slightly and squinted as several tall figures before him wobbled together to become one figure. Fair-haired, muscular but not overly so, arresting eyes....nicely but not ridiculously dressed. Flaxen locks were tied back at the nape of a graceful alabaster neck; like an endless waterfall of concentrated, pale honey. Strong jawline, lush but not overly full lips under thick lashes and brows just a shade darker than the hair. The man before him was just his type..before Sephiroth anyway. Likely married but adventurous and not entirely secure in his sexual preferences. The kind who acted gracious and demure until they got you in the bedroom and then stripped you down so they could fuck you into next week. The kind who didn't ask questions and didn't leave phone numbers, the kind who weren't looking for anything but debauchery and a quick way to come in something tight, virile, and young. Chuckling, Genesis attempted to prop his chin on his elbows and ended up skidding them over the countertop with his cheek against the lacquered wood. He grinned nevertheless.

“R’nnt” he slurred before frowning and running his tongue over his teeth. “Aren't you looking for sss..” he blinked hard. “Someone a 'lil younger?”

A deep, velvety chuckle was his reply, and he shivered involuntarily as he imagined that voice snarling filth into his ears as he was taken from behind. 

“Usually I do” was the eloquent response, and his blurry vision zeroed in on the arc of a silver band on a long-fingered left hand as his 'companion’ sat down next to him. The other hand carded through his hair and he wanted to slap it away but all he managed was an uncoordinated jerk of his head. “But you're a rare flower.” That voice grew ragged on the word _'flower’._ “Mmm, that _hair_ and your eyes... you're a SOLDIER, if I'm guessing right?” Alarm shot through him, dark and muddled like molasses. “You’re a bit old, yes...but you're pretty enough to make up for it...and I get the feeling it's been a while...I'm looking forward to seeing how you express it.”

Realistically, he should have thrown this motherfucker across the room by now.

The Commander attempted to pull away only to knock over five or six empty bottles lined up on the counter. Following his gaze, the redhead counted at least double that in glasses in his direct line of vision. Okay, so he was _very drunk_ , horrendously drunk and what kind of half-witted bartender gave a customer _bottles_ of alcohol?! 

“I've been fielding your tab” was the reply to his unspoken question. “You really ought to give me something to make up for it “

“M’not available” he muttered, snatching for his coat only to be dragged forward somewhat. 

“You certainly look available” that voice crooned over his mouth. “Alone, miserable...staring at the stage.” Genesis hiccuped and that chuckle came again. Lips brushed against his and he chased them automatically, habitually. “And the alcohol helps, of course.”

Before he could reply, Genesis was being dragged to his feet-which did _not_ support him-and was falling into rich fabric that smelled faintly of cologne. It took him a moment to realize the man was taller than Sephiroth; that was saying a hell of a lot and it wasn't like he was a midget himself. They swayed for a moment and the scarlet-haired SOLDIER felt his head drooping before he was half-carried, half-dragged away from the bar. The lights spun above him; a mixture of dark reds and mahoganies and orchestra music that seemed to get slower and slower. A hallway; blue and pink fluorescents and a mouth against his and it had been so _long_. A hot tongue at the back of his throat and he groaned for it, yanked that long hair loose and let it shift between his fingers until he could imagine it was Sephiroth's hair... Sephiroth kissing him. 

Fumbling will his belt buckles, a hand at the bulge just beneath his zipper and the noise that escaped him was half-pleasured and half-tortured. Because he could rationalize this all he wanted but he was still cheating...still throwing everything he'd ever cared about... everything he had away because he was too wasted to say no. More kisses and they weren't really kisses at all; just him sloppily chasing what he was being offered only to find that it was already gone. He was flipped, pressed roughly into the wall as a familiar-yet-unfamiliar hardness pressed against him, as fingers pushed down the back his slacks to palm his ass. Genesis bit his lip, tried to think through the haze in his brain but a lubed finger was circling his entrance, circling the tight ring of muscles in a constant gentle application of pressure that had warmth blooming in his belly. 

“Seph” he groaned, pushing backwards.

Almost immediately realizing his error, the redhead stiffened only to shiver somewhat as that voice chuckled.in his ear. 

“I don't need you to say my name to get what I want” was the low remark as hot teeth closed over the lobe of his ear...bit down before sucking. “Call for whoever you like.”

And this was the sort of thing that he'd vowed not to do anymore... even before he'd made FIRST he'd known his luck was limited. Genesis had fucked a _lot_ of people in a lot of seedy places.  It was-frankly-a miracle he wasn't riddled with STDs, though he suspected mako and his Cetra biology aided in destroying negative physiological affectations that others couldn't. At the time, the redhead had also acknowledged that it worried Angeal...even when he was doing it within company confines. Not necessarily because of the biological factor-though that was a concern-but because he never connected with anyone he slept with.  
Rationally, he had no reason for doing this other than the fact he was drunk and depressed. 

A long, cool finger began to probe him and Genesis groaned, buried his head in his arms and pushed back into the invasion, arcing his spine and working his hips as his elbows garnered splinters from cheap wood and cracked paint. He supposed-distantly-that he ought to be grateful that there was lube; he’d been taken raw before and it wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience. Nevertheless, the digits coaxing him into acquiescence weren’t what he’d call gentle or affectionate. They were quick and mostly perfunctory...detached and unemotional. The mouth nibbling at the back of his neck was more predatory than appreciative. He managed to find some sort of rhythm and fell into it, counting each additional finger until there were three and his mind was a black-red haze of agony, guilt, and lust. They withdrew...left him aching and shivering...there was the pop of a cap...the waft of unfamiliar cologne…

...And absence.

It took him a moment to realize that the man at this back was completely gone. Well, not entirely. Rolling his forehead on the wall and glaring down the multi-hued hallway; Genesis’ glassy eyes could just barely make out the shape of a tall figure being dragged around the corner. The redhead was accosted with a feeling of both relief and indignance, because was Shinra _really_ going to stop him from having a hard, fast, fuck?! It had never bothered them before so he had no clue why it mattered now. The relief came from the fact that he was not going to go down as the worst partner in history; the one who spread his legs for some faceless stranger while his significant other was locked away in a cell somewhere. Someone tugged his pants up and he supposed he ought to thank them, but the room was beginning to spin dangerously fast. Slim, tiny fingers hooked under his elbow and poked at his side. Forcing himself to concentrate, the Commander let his head loll from one direction to the other...coming face to face with aquamarine irises, a red dress, an indignant frown and long...auburn hair. 

_“‘Rith”_ Genesis groaned. “What..?”

Aerith slapped him. 

Specifically, she slapped him twice and then dragged him off the wall and slapped him again. It was enough to momentarily sober him into hunching over so he could protect himself. And _confused_ didn’t even begin to cover his state of mind, because as far as he was aware...his sister _never_ ventured onto the Upper Plate.

“Let’s go” a male voice said flatly. There was the rustle of footsteps in the background, and the sight of a black and white suit that was suspiciously familiar gave him pause. “You can teach him a lesson later. Right now, we need to go. We won’t get this chance again.” Two sets of hands attempted to move him, and Genesis tried to comply but it felt like the entire world was melting. Someone swore. “Give him this” the voice continued. “Pull the cap, inject, pull out.” 

There was the _***chink***_ of glass and metal and a dull, biting pain in his left shoulder. Almost immediately, he began to sweat profusely and the already severe sense of intoxication multiplied tenfold. The redhead heard himself retch, felt his stomach rebel and he was being violently sick in an alleyway plastered with performance posters and smelling of rot. If he could compare the sensation to anything at all, it would have been the literal experience of having all of the alcohol in his body forced out through his pores. At first it enhanced the effect, made the body reel with the idea of intoxication before purging it violently...virulently. The mako in his system expedited the process, sent it seething through his psyche until he was left slumped against a brick wall looking at the midnight sky and feeling so hollow he wouldn’t have been surprised if he rattled whenever he worked up the courage to move. 

Aerith was leaning against the wall across from him with her arms crossed over her chest. She was looking away, towards the light from the reactors. Even in the dark, shadowed alley Genesis could tell that she was upset...more than upset really. Her lips trembled with the force of her indignance, every so often she would glance his way, and her eyes would narrow into slits...as if she couldn’t bear the sight of him. The Commander couldn’t particularly blame her. Lifting a trembling hand to swipe at moist-dry lips, he pressed the back of his palm to his mouth as guilt flooded him like a black river. 

He’d been perfectly ready to disregard everything he ever stood for because he was miserable and intoxicated. It wasn’t like he and Circinae had even been _that_ close, just that her death was the final nail in a coffin of misery he felt like he’d been carrying around for nine months. The excruciating pain of separation from his partner, the bitter truth that his partner was carrying his child and he might never see either of them again, his long suspension, the guilt of dying...of the fact that if he hadn’t been sick none of this would have happened, the knowledge that his father had beaten his mother to death and no one seemed to care save for him. 

More prevalent than that however, more powerful than anything else was his fear that this was his life now. That this terrible sense of confusion, of loneliness and separation was going to haunt him until he dropped into his grave. Genesis was terrified of the fact that he would always be asking questions, always be looking around another corner for something or someone who wasn’t there. Genesis was scared that nothing was going to get better, that he was never going to fix this and that this bleak, soundless universe he continuously found himself in was a permanence...a constant. 

“Let’s go.” 

Tseng. The voice belonged to Tseng. Lowering his hand, the redheaded FIRST glanced at the Turk standing at the mouth of the alleyway, impassive as ever. Only the slightest thinning of his lips indicated that he was impatient at all. Pushing off the wall, Genesis was relieved when the world spun only a little bit. Finding his feet took somewhat longer, but he managed it; swaying slightly before forcing himself to take a step forward...even as his ‘detox’-weakened body screamed in protest. The crunch of gravel under his boots was loud but he forced himself to ignore it, patting his pockets and sighing inwardly when it became evident that his wallet was still there. Aerith was slower to follow and she kept slightly behind, as if unwilling to walk directly next to him. The Commander found that he didn’t have the energy or the reasoning to be angry with his sister, though he was surprised that she’d evidently developed such a soft spot for Sephiroth. To remedy the deafening silence, Genesis cleared his throat. 

“Anyone care to explain what’s going on?” he asked hoarsely.

Tseng glanced at him but didn’t reply, preferring to look left and right before crossing the street and indicating that they should follow. They’d made it out onto a main road; though at this time of night the traffic wasn’t entirely horrid. It struck the blue-eyed SOLDIER that he hadn’t realized how late it was. He must have been at Garter’s and Gorgon’s for at least seven hours. Their time on a busy causeway didn’t last, as the dark-haired Turk led them into another alleyway that angled steeply downwards. With a jolt, Genesis realized that it was likely taking them below Plate. At this epiphany, he felt a little indignant, because he hadn’t known that there were footpaths leading into the slums. 

And really it couldn’t be called a footpath. The way downward appeared to contour to the underside of several massive infrastructures. It swiftly went from ‘steep’ to _’fuck’_ ; vaulting out of a residential area to slither underneath a major causeway; morphing from gravel to steel filled with hastily poured concrete. In some places it wasn’t a path, merely a series of rungs that let the traveler traverse yawning gaps betwixt electrical components and an endless drop into the darkness below. And really, this was _not_ something to do when you were recovering from what amounted to severe alcohol poisoning but neither Tseng nor Aerith seemed to have an ounce of mercy. By the time they were halfway to the bottom, slithering through a marked guardrail with the wind howling in their ears, Genesis had been seized with the spectacular urge to vomit about six times and had only resisted by acknowledging that if he did there was a good possibility he might slip in it and fall to his death. 

Professionally, he had to admit that it was a clever way to bypass the security checkpoints. In earlier days, he’d have reported it straight off because there was _no way_ that someone hadn’t died trying to make it up top in this fashion. The mere idea of people using the ‘path’ in such a manner-possibly even children-made him shudder with horror. No, he and Tseng were going to have a serious talk about this once he’d managed to pull his stomach from the tips of his toes. When his feet touched the grimy, gritty packed earth of the slums he was accosted with the urge to kiss the dust under his boots. Because despite the fact that he was a SOLDIER, he was not an insane SOLDIER. From there, it was maybe a ten minute hike to Aerith’s church and they did this with as much skirting and glancing around corners as they had on the Upper Plate. With a jolt of surprise, the Commander realized that his tail was gone. He wasn’t sure what convinced him of the fact with such surety, but there wasn’t the ever-niggling sense of presence at his back. Indignantly, he wondered where the fucking tail had been when he was essentially getting bent over in a hallway. 

The massive wooden doors shut behind them ominously, and Genesis watched as his sister traipsed ahead to fumble around for a box of matches. These she used to light four candles sitting on the altar before sliding down to the floor and putting her head in her hands. Guiltily, the scarlet-haired SOLDIER acknowledged that he really ought to visit her more often, but the restrictions placed on him during his suspension hadn’t allotted him much time. He’d been down to see her twice, once to reassure her that he was alive, and another time to fall into hysterical pieces over Sephiroth. She’d taken it in stride...compassionately, lovingly. They’d spent two very beautiful afternoons playing cards and eating whatever he’d picked up for them on the way down. He knew that Zack visited her quite a bit, and while he’d been reticent to the idea of a member of SOLDIER dating his sibling, he also acknowledged that he didn’t have much room to talk.

Glancing at the pews, Genesis tried not to associate them with the memories he had of Sephiroth. It was hard not to with the knowledge that the younger man had stood where he was standing now, hovering anxiously as he and Aerith talked...as he died a slow degradative death. The church seemed emptier without him; and it was strange to think of a place as empty when the individual who was missing was so often silent and thoughtful, but it was still a tangible sensation. Rubbing his hands over his arms to ward off a sudden chill, the redhead leaned against one of the railings, watching as Tseng passed by him...a dark and wordless shadow...pausing just a few feet from Aerith before turning around. 

“I’ve seen Sephiroth” he said tonelessly.

His heart leapt into his throat, along with a million questions. At the same time, the blue-eyed SOLDIER was accosted with the sense of suspicious disbelief, because when did the Turks ever choose to go against Shinra? He was conflicted against asking anything of the individual before him because he was painfully aware that the agent could use it against him later. After all, it was the Turks who had helped Administration lock them up in the General’s apartement...it was the Turks who had obeyed orders to incarcerate and subdue the two of them. Genesis shifted uncertainly, caught between the desperation that was his desire to know and his fear that was his mistrust for anyone or anything that represented the company he worked for. Bitterly, he wished it was different...but he knew better now than to throw all his cards on the table where someone with more power could see them. As if sensing his discomfort Tseng continued.

“I understand that you’re reticent, but if we want to get him out, you need to put that aside.”

Genesis scoffed.

“And it’s just that easy” he said dryly. When Shion opened his mouth to reply he raised an irritable hand. “You were there” he snapped. “ _Right there_ when they dragged me up to Residential. You tried to talk to me before they threw me in.” The laugh that left his mouth was ugly, suffused with bitterness. “I’m sorry, but fuck you.” 

“I trust him.”

Aerith’s voice was small in the echoing space, and the blue-eyed SOLDIER watched as she rose and stood with her back to altar. For the first time since they’d met that evening, she looked at him squarely, solemnly. 

“I trust him” she repeated. “You should too.” 

And Gaia, he didn’t want to. But he also knew that there was nothing the Turk before him could have done to stop what had happened that horrible night. Even if he’d stepped between Genesis and those doors, someone else would have filled in to take his place. Like Genesis, he was only one man, a man in service to a company with roots that were seemingly endless and more far-reaching than any he could personally put down. Gritting his teeth, the Commander forced himself to think objectively, purposefully. Looking at the black-suited individual before him, he raised a crimson brow.

“Talk.”

The agent nodded perfunctorily before continuing.

“Sephiroth is still in HQ.” Genesis inhaled sharply and this time it was Tseng who held up a hand. “However, he’s sublevel, _very_ sublevel in a containment area of the Science Division with specialized access. I don’t have clearance, Hojo had to let me in. If you employ violence to get to him, he won’t be alive by the time you arrive.” The redhead snorted, because _really?_ Sephiroth was going to put up a hell of a fight. He was honestly shocked that the silver-haired SOLDIER hadn’t simply bashed his way out of there at this point. “Sephiroth isn’t…” Shion hesitated. “His condition prevents him from lashing out. I don’t think it was an issue at first, we had several reports of multiple suicide attempts initially. But according to the data we received, he’s grown attached to the fetus...which has hindered his ability to act without thinking.”

Genesis reeled. 

“Suicide” he said dully.

“Yes” was the emotionless reply. “They have him contained...in a cell with no form of mental simulation or social contact.” 

“Of course they do” the scarlet-haired man spat. Grief and panic threatened to overwhelm him, and he swayed slightly. With monumental effort, he pulled himself together. “You said his condition” he pressed. “He’s still…still…?” Genesis gestured indicatively.

“He appears to be gestating at half the rate of a normal human being” the Turk replied, catching on quickly. “His timeframe to carry is eighteen months.” The dark-haired man hesitated before speaking again. “It’s a girl.”

_A girl._

The small, half-delirious half-agonized noise that forced itself from his throat seemed very far away. Because _a girl._ And some part of him found that strangely ironic, because women couldn’t be SOLDIERs. And yet another facet of his psyche was _relieved_ because that meant she couldn’t be used like they had been. Upon this realization, a cold fear spread into his veins, and he looked at Tseng in horror.

“A girl” he whispered. “I bet Hojo’s not happy about that.” 

“He’s not” Tseng replied, and terror squeezed his heart like a vice. “But Sephiroth was aware of that, and he offered her to the Turk Division.” When Genesis made an indignant noise, the agent shook his head. “It was that or he was going to be forced to terminate. He did what he had to, Veld has accepted. But that’s not relevant.” Aerith moved away somewhat to sink into a pew and they both watched her go. “I gave him a Dumbapple”” he added. “I know it wasn’t my place, but I wanted to give him some semblance of hope.”  Genesis wanted to mind, he really did. But a part of him was desperately, sloppily grateful that at least someone with access was reaching out to his partner. Wordlessly, he shook his head, the lump in his throat too large to speak around. “Sephiroth has sympathizers among the staff, though they don’t show it. I considered appealing to them, but they are too afraid of Hojo, they know what he’s capable of.”

“So what’s your plan?” the Commander pressed impatiently. “I’m assuming you have one.”

“I do” was the somewhat irritable reply. “But it’s not going to be easy, and we’re going to need all the help we can get.” Shion appeared to be collecting his thoughts. “The first hurdle is going to be getting down there unseen and undetected. We can’t go as a group; it has to be one person with multiple greater stasis charms. Even then the allotted time frame to get in and get Sephiroth out is two hours. It takes thirty minutes to get there in the first place. Most of the access codes are surpassable, but you’ll need to trip the wires in order to not set off alarms. I can work on that from Intelligence, but you’ll need to signal every time you cut one...every time you’re moving forward.” He shook his head. “Then you have to get into Sephiroth’s cell, that part will be easier. You’ll need to swipe a card from a tech, one with access. They wear yellow tags. Once you’re in, you won’t be able to get out the way you came; you’ll need to use a ventilation shaft. Specifically, the one next to his cell, you can’t miss it. It leads directly upwards, right to the inward parts of the system and left to the basements and out through the sewers. Once you get to the sewers someone will be there to pick you up. I think Hewley would be willing.” Tseng’s brow furrowed. “This sounds easy, but convincing Sephiroth to go with you will be difficult. He’s not...entirely lucid and his time in confinement has severely altered how he views the world around him. You’ll have approximately twenty minutes to talk him around.” 

“When are we doing this?” Genesis pressed. “I don’t think he’s going to be able to crawl through the shafts for much longer, it has to be soon.”

“That’s the thing” Tseng said heavily. “If we want this to work, if we want to get this done it’s going to be very soon. There’s a Conference in Administration, one that Hojo will have to attend...it circles around the Science Division. That’ll be when we move.” 

“You need to tell him the truth” Aerith cut in, her eyes dark. “Before you do anything else tell him the truth...about tonight.” She shook her head, her brows drawn together as if in pain. “Genesis...I’m so...I’m so _disappointed_.”  

Swallowing, the scarlet-haired SOLDIER nodded before turning back to Shion.

“When?” he pressed flatly; and the response he received was terrifying. The agent looked away before returning his focus to the fore. Opening his mouth, he spoke;

“...Tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N** Ugh. So it took me forever to write this, and I sort of tried about fifty angles for the bar scene and this was the one that worked. I know this is a really unpopular choice because well, infidelity. And good for Aeirth slapping him, hopefully, Sephiroth slaps him too lol. Also! We are going to see a two-part Genesis POV here hence the 'part one.' But yeah! Looks like things are looking up. And honestly I was going to drag this out way longer but there's only so much I can do with Sephiroth being locked up. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> **R &R**


	6. Chapter 6: (Part Two)

_Tomorrow._

The word kept echoing through Genesis’ head even as he and Tseng beat a swift path back to HQ. It was nearly 03:00, and what little time was left to them had to be spent coordinating their efforts to make sure that everything went smoothly. And really, ‘smoothly’ was a relative term; there was nothing smooth about this. It felt hastily, almost desperately thrown together; and he didn’t know if that meant that all other attempts would have been doomed, or if this was just a _really bad_ idea. They split up upon returning to the Upper Plate, nothing but wordless nods as a form of communication. As much as he hated to do it, the redhead made a point of circling back to Garter’s  & Gorgons to pick up his coat, making sure he stumbled on his way out...giving a good show of being so intoxicated he couldn’t see straight. He tried not to think about what could have happened if his sister and her unusual companion hadn’t intervened. Realistically, what had been happening was less consensual and more running along the lines of assault, but he’d been there too many times to be able to consider himself a victim. Aerith was right about owning up to it, but there would be time to think on that later...when things weren’t so ridiculously urgent.

His tail returned when he was about two blocks away from Headquarters, this time with much more focus than before. Under different circumstances, he might have been irritated, but he’d been out from under surveillance for several hours and he could only count himself lucky he’d been able to avoid if for that long. Genesis forced himself to slow down once he entered the lobby; made his steps casual if a little bit weaving as he passed a receptionist who he was fairly sure hated him for leaving her hanging six years prior. Thankfully, she seemed too preoccupied to give him her usual vitriol-imbued glare, and he wondered idly if luck was on his side or if it was just too early for anyone to give a fuck about him. From Reception the redhead went straight up to residential, trodding through empty winding corridors and standing in bereft elevators like a misplaced, anxiety-filled ghost. By the time he made it to Angeal’s apartment the Commander was vibrating with tension. Because it was now or never and he needed his childhood friend’s help with this or it was all going to go to hell. It took five or six series of sharp raps for the dark-haired FIRST to apparently pull himself out of bed and answer the door. When he did, he looked-if possible-so irritated to see him Genesis half-expected to be turned away.

Instead, his fellow SOLDIER grumbled something gravelly and grudging before palming the access key and stepping back. The younger man thanked whatever stars were on his side as he swept over the threshold and into the darkness of the flat. Angeal’s apartment was considerably more homely than his; with a good amount of scattered disarray and personal belongings that gave it less of an art-project feel and more of a lived-in feel. Pictures of several squadrons he’d trained hung all over the walls and there were many photographs of him and Sephiroth while they were all still in training. The silver-haired man had quickly gotten out of the initiate stage of things while they somewhat straggled behind, but there was still a fond, nostalgic ache behind each snapshot. A few commemorative trophies were shoved into cabinets and display stands on the far side of the living room, but most of the older man’s apartment was taken up by a somewhat bizarre collection of nautical paraphernalia. It was no secret that the owner of the Buster Sword had a great love for all things seaworthy, and most individuals who knew him well enough were aware that a day out sailing was as good a birthday present as any. A decorative wooden paddle rested just under the double-hooks where Angeal hung the Buster sword, and an old diving helmet had been converted into a sort of exotic fish habitat. Other than that, the flat was filled to the brim with related antiques and various knick knacks, but Genesis remained near the door, anxious to get this over with.

“What’s this about Genesis?” Angeal queried wearily, scrubbing a hand over his face. He paused and sniffed tentatively, his nose wrinkling as he did so. “You _reek_! What have you been doing?!” He eyed the state of the redhead’s disheveled clothes and groaned. “Gaia, Gen, tell me you didn’t-”

“-I almost did” the redhead interrupted impatiently. “Aerith slapped the shit out of me so I didn’t get to follow through. We have a lead, on Sephiroth. I’m going to take it.”

That gave the older man pause. Cautiously, the dark-haired FIRST lowered his hands and observed him warily.

“...What kind of lead?” he asked slowly.

“A _‘Sephiroth is in the building in the Science Division’_ kind of lead” the Commander snapped.

There was silence as his childhood friend appeared to try and process this. It made him want to scream. Because could Angeal be just a _little_ less not-impulsive for once?! He was-as far as he was concerned-running on borrowed time. He had to get to Outfitting before the employees came in and steal a wig and a uniform that coincided as closely with that part of the SD as possible and being contemplative and shit was running his timeframe insanely short. And he had never dressed up for anything quite so dangerous before but he was going take what he could get and fuck everything and everyone else that came after. Nothing about this was tactically sound, but he often found that tactics were worth absolutely nothing when it came down to the nitty-gritty. And this was about as gritty as anyone could make it without being positively insane. Shifting from foot to foot, the blue-eyed SOLDIER gritted his teeth and counted to forty-five, focusing on the tiny second hand nestled in a clock shaped suspiciously like a buoy on the far well.

“I don’t think you’re thinking about this very clearly” Angeal said carefully.

Genesis was _done_.

“It’s a girl” he snapped. “Tseng is covering for me, we’re not going to get a chance like this again and I don’t have time to explain the intricacies of it to you so you can feel better. I’m not fucking this up Angeal.”

“And what about the men?!” Angeal retorted. “What about the plans we had for Shinra?!” He appeared to relent. “Though, congratulations I guess.”

“Thanks” the redhead snorted. “But ‘Geal, I’m going. I’m _going,_ okay?! I can’t do this anymore. I’m all for saving SOLDIER when this is over, but right now, I have more to worry about. And you can continue when I’m gone, it’s not like I’m the brains behind this operation anyway...I’ve hardly been here, I don’t have clearance, I’m pretty much useless-”

“-Okay” the older man interrupted, raising his hands. “Okay Genesis. I get it. But please, just listen to me. You know what will happen if you’re caught, if you’re subdued.” Sapphire eyes grew pleading. “ _Please_ just tell me you have a plan. You’re my best friend, I don’t want you to-” he broke off and cobalt irises disappeared behind dark-lashed lids. “I don’t want you to die for this, Genesis.”

The wordless silence that stretched after this declaration was telling; and he knew the reason behind it. If he and Sephiroth got away unscathed, they would never really be free. They would always be on the run. There were few places on Gaia that were truly good areas to hide, and the populace within them was loyal to Shinra. Their options in regards to being fugitives were slim, and the closer Sephiroth got to giving birth, the harder it would be for them to move their locale. They couldn’t, however, put this off any longer. Time was running short as it was, and the green-eyed man’s condition wouldn’t make escape any easier. This didn’t-however-take away from the very real truth that Genesis and Angeal might never see each other again. The acknowledgement of such a truth was painful, because they’d had so little time together over the past few months. And now that the circumstances were upon them, the redhead could think of so little that was right to say. _’Take care’_ seemed shallow, because you could take as much care as you wanted and still remain within Shinra’s grasp. _’I’m sorry’_ was equally weightless, because he was not sorry. He was doing something he’d been dying to do since he’d figured out what Hojo was aiming for in the first place. Swallowing, the younger man forced himself to calm down, to think objectively.

“Angeal...thank you” he said hoarsely.

Familiar blue eyes crinkled slightly at the edges as his childhood friend smiled, a little sadly. Within seconds, the dark-haired FIRST had crossed the room and pulled him into a tight hug. Genesis let him. Moreover, he returned the gesture, wrapped his arms around the individual he’d known longer than almost anyone and buried his face in his stupid striped nightshirt to hide the tears that were forming.

“You’re going to be an awesome Dad, Genesis.”

The aforementioned man let out a choked, watery laugh and pulled away.

“Hell, I hope I’m halfway to decent” he chuckled unsteadily. Smirking, he raised a scarlet brow. “You know, Angela has a nice ring to it.”

Angeal’s expression became abruptly deadpan.

“Don’t you dare” he said flatly, stepping back.

The younger man sniggered and waved an idle hand.

“I think Sephiroth might kill me so I’ll refrain.” At the mention of the youngest of their initial trio, the quiet mirth of the moment dissipated. Sobering, Genesis exhaled and closed his eyes. “I have a plan, to answer your original question” he muttered. “The only thing I need you to do is be ready near the sewers.”

“I’ll be there.” The older man’s voice was steady, determined. Somewhat surprised-but not really-the Commander lifted weary lids. Blue irises blazed with fierce determination. “He’s my friend, you’re my _best friend_ ; I’m going to be there.”

And he wanted to hug him all over again, because despite everything, he was still _lucky._ Lucky to have people in his life that cared so much. Genesis had taken that for granted, had squandered it more often than he liked to admit. Nostalgically, he briefly wished that they had more time...but wishing for something that could never be was as childish as it was unrealistic. He had to take the hand he was dealt and use it for something good...for something that would help those he cherished. Moving towards the door, the redhead paused before it...considered his options forward and took a deep breath. Placing his fingers on the handle, he let the tangibility of the moment sink into his veins. There was no going back after this. And while the acknowledgement of such a fact wasn’t exactly comforting, it was still true. There was no room for uncertainty, no room for error. He had to leave that here, in this apartment with all the memories of what had been and would ever be. Turning back, he graced his childhood friend with a bittersweet smile before pulling the door open.

“See you soon.”

He left.

Standing in the hallway, he was accosted with a sense of irrational panic. Genesis rarely had _holy shit_ moments but this was a monumental moment. Reigning in his rampant emotions, the Commander forced himself to leave Residential, beating a hasty path towards Outfitting as his mind slowly ticked over the available minutes in his head. The hallways were still mostly empty, but he ran into a few nightguards ending their shifts. They spared him weary glances as they slung their packs over their shoulders but otherwise didn’t greet him. His destination was-blessedly-still dark; nestled between Administration and Accounting, Outfitting was a series of large, mostly undecorated rooms filled to the brim with purchasable uniforms and other everyday wear for employees in their respective stations. There was also an area for undercover missions and tasks that required SOLDIERS to dress for cold or otherwise intemperate weather. Tripping the electrical commands that would allow him access took longer than he would have liked; two minor stasis materia to be exact...but he got in in the end. Skirting various surveillance monitors leeched even more of his time, but it was necessary. Getting caught was not an option, he would not _allow_ it to be an option. A pair of khaki slacks just on the edge of formal, some black loafers, a blue-collared shirt and a tie, a lab coat and a stethoscope. Finding a fake ID that would convincingly allow him to blend in plus the ugly brown wig he picked out took considerably longer. He didn’t discover anything that matched Tseng’s descriptions to a T, but he worked with what he had. Yellow stickers were available from when Shinra had assigned some THIRDS to monitor a chocobo race three years ago, and if he pulled the stethoscope just-so and tamped it down with some double-sided sticky tape; it hid the absent space where the access logo would have gone.

While dressing, Genesis was forced to acknowledge that he _did_ smell pretty rank. Specifically, he smelled like gallons of alcohol, cheap lube, and sweat. Deodorant wasn’t a staple in Outfitting, but tacky cologne was readily abundant and he made use of it while telling himself he could bathe in expensive essential oils once they were well and truly gone. His main goal at the moment was to be able to look like a standard Science Division employee that hadn’t rolled out of a glory hole and gone to work. Sarcastically, he acknowledged that he now smelled like an unsatisfied, nerdy virgin but he’d take that over smelling like a two-penny strumpet. Shoving a pair of horn-rimmed glasses over the bridge of his nose, the now sandy blond redhead grunted with satisfaction as he stared at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t do anything about his eyes, contacts-for some bizarre reason-dissolved when they came in contact with sclera infused with mako. Block-like, low-cut bangs hid the tell-tale scarlet of his brows and he managed to scrape the day-old stubble from his cheeks with a straightedge he found in a drawer.

It was good enough.

Grabbing a rather battered-looking briefcase, Genesis left outfitting with the name of Eadig Froskr; his lab coat folded carefully under his arm as he’d seen the other techs do. From there, it was a waiting game. He wandered his way down to the Science Division with relative ease; getting a few wrinkled noses from a few early-rising accountants who happened to wander too close to his cologne-soaked cuffs. Taking the lift, he checked his procured watch-it was 0630- and estimated he had maybe an hour before Hojo left the sublevels to go talk to the President prior to the conference. Not wanting to run into any potential ‘associates’, he stepped out into the dimly lit hallway and made a good show of checking several of the charts hanging up on the walls; stopping to ‘punch in’ next to a sleepy-looking chemist who appeared to want to die, and making his way to the break room without further ado. There were three or four other techs already there, and for a frightful, heartstopping moment he was concerned he might be caught out. Thankfully, all of them looked like they had just rolled out of bed, and while they gave him a once-over he must have passed some sort of unspoken test because they returned to staring morosely into their cups of coffee.

Getting one for himself, the blue-eyed Commander grabbed a magazine from one of the available side tables and made a great show of getting as comfortable as possible. It was one of the most bizarre hours he had ever spent in his life. None of the techs talked to each other, even though more and more filed in every ten minutes or so. They took whatever was offered from the meagre buffet and sat motionless in their seats; looking ahead, scrolling through cell phones, or flipping through magazines just as he was. He wasn’t spared a single glance; not a word, not a nod. With a surge of pity, the redhead realized that Hojo must have forbidden them from communicating with each other outside of professional need. He was sincerely glad he hadn’t tried to talk to any of them upon entering. Sitting in the silent-but not so silent-room filled to the brim with individuals sworn into a lifetime of secrecy and servitude, he couldn’t help but think it incredibly sad. He couldn’t imagine living a life where your occupation was so heinous you weren’t allowed to have any sort of rapport with your co-workers. It made SOLDIER look like a walk in the park.

Around 0745, the mass of creepily silent individuals around him began to pull on their lab coats. Taking his cue, Genesis did the same. And it was so bizarre, to watch it...to observe as the people before him started to file out of the room as seamlessly as they’d come. He knew-from hacking into files before his clearance got neutered-that none of the Science Division staff were robots, but they might as well have been. Dumping his styrofoam coffee cup in a bin, the scarlet-haired FIRST allowed himself to leave somewhere towards the backend of initial capacity. Once in the hallway, the techs split up and moved perfunctorily to their respective tasks in a slightly more humanistic matter. It didn’t comfort him much. Following Tseng’s directions in his head, he took a right from the break room and then a left...found himself back out in the blue-lit hallway near the elevators. Striding towards Hojo’s section of the Labs, he tried not to think about the last time he’d been there...what he’d been trying to do. His actions now were an attempt at amelioration for his grievous error.

Genesis’ footsteps seemed hollow and bereft...out of place in the face of what was to come as he passed the mad scientist’s domain. Further on and the lights slowly brightened, became your generalized LEDs...staining the tile and reflecting it back up into his eyes until it nearly hurt. He’d always assumed that this particular hallway led to storage. He was-unsurprisingly at this point-wrong. The hallway ended with a blank wall, two doors on opposing sides that marked separate bathrooms, and a cleverly hidden access pad behind a fire extinguisher. There was a beep from his pocket; a clear indication that Tseng was watching and knew that he was there, and he forced himself to concentrate on overriding the commands as quickly as possible. This was easier said than done. Once you got past certain levels of clearance, overrides took time...it was a delicate procedure, one that didn’t allow for any mixups. Making a great show of sorting through his briefcase, the redhead laid it flat against the panel and let one hand rummage through it while the other worked surreptitiously from behind.

It took him three minutes.

By the time he was done, the blue-eyed SOLDIER was sweating profusely, and not just out of panic. It took an incredible amount of finagling to get the wires right, to angle the tools he’d brought along in a way that wouldn’t light him up like a Christmas tree. They’d agreed previously that his temporal cutoff point was four minutes; he couldn’t risk standing around a high-security access point any longer than that. The Turks weren't Shinra’s only form of surveillance, and he was absolutely positive that this was something Intelligence would be watching with undivided intensity. There was a loud, jarring **_*beep*_** and the wall slid backwards soundlessly, sinking into the left-hand side of the hallway. Genesis was greeted with an elevator. For a brief moment, he completely lost his head. Because elevators were _different_ than access pads; you had to basically rip them apart to get them to do anything you wanted them to do. And while tripping might have worked with more modernized lifts...this one was fucking ancient… _fucking ancient with a keypad._ As he stood there briefly stupefied, his phone went off with a series of beeps in quick succession. Yanking it out of his pocket, the redhead was seized with the wild urge to throw it across the room when it turned out to be a series of absolute nonsense from an unknown sender.

 **Time:** 08:05 **1-827-665-4230:**

 _hfidlsaf_  
__________________________________

 **Time:** 08:05 **1-827-665-4230:**

 _ypterjtier_  
__________________________________

 **Time:** 08:06 **1-827-665-4230:**

 _h3489ypnh_  
__________________________________

**_Eight more unread messages._ **

**_Nine more unread messages. Delete read messages?_ **

It took him awhile to figure out that it was the code to the ancient keypad; not the messages in of themselves, but the series in which the notification sound on his phone played them out. Clustered chimes were single numbers, the spaces between them indicated the beginning of another numerical indicator. By the time he managed to put his brain on correctly, Tseng had sent the sequence three more times. As he punched the code in, he wildly thanked the stars for the genius of Turks. And really, it wasn’t all that genius, it was just innovative and really fucking sneaky but thank _Gaia_. The ride down was somewhat nerve wracking. Through mako-enhanced auditory senses, he could tell that the floor below him was somewhat busier than the floors above. And it was _below_ below him...several hundred feet into the bedrock by his estimate. How the hell did Hojo get clearance to do shit like this? His mind conveniently reminded him that he was basically the sole remaining reason SOLDIER existed in the first place and he pushed his ruminations to the side. In good time too, because the lift doors slid open to reveal a gaggle of security guards that looked considerably more awake than the ones he had passed. They descended upon him in an instant, glanced at his tag and then barked something perfunctory at him that went entirely over his head considering his overall state of panic. With very few options left, Genesis slouched slightly, tilted his head in a way that he hoped looked somewhat idiotic, and adopted a lisp.

“Genthlemen.”

For whatever reason, it worked. He was patted down and asked to open his mouth and he made a great show about squawking over his briefcase before he was allowed to proceed. Observing what they were wearing, he was sincerely glad that he hadn’t gone for a security-related costume. They were dressed in attire he didn’t recognize at all...from anywhere. Heavily armored, armed with automatics and what looked like stun guns with glowing green helmets that obscured any indication of possible identity. An indignant part of him acknowledged that all this had been set up to keep Sephiroth _in_...and he wanted to bash each and every one of their heads into the floor for the mere _thought_ that they might have used those weapons on his lover, but he refrained. Regardless of his personal feelings, he was through; his completely spontaneous act of theatrics had worked and he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth no matter how dumb that gift horse might be.

In retrospect, he was grateful far too soon.

There were six more access doors to go through. These were unmanned but powered by highly advanced locking mechanisms that took him the better part of his four minute time slot to get through. Unwilling to risk anymore scrutiny by using his briefcase again, the redhead employed minor stasis materia liberally. Tseng pinged in every time, and he took some small comfort in the fact that at least _someone_ who was on his side knew where he was. Apart from the access doors, the entire place was a maze. A massive mase. He passed by several labs, half a dozen assorted surgical rooms that looked brand new, and four or five conference rooms before he was brought up short in a dimly lit hallway that was very much cohesive with the entryway to the Science Division. Twice, he was nearly waylaid by guards...but this time, he was not lucky enough to evade them. There were two and a tech, and he knew instantly that he was going to have to drop them in order to avoid suspicion. The door to Sephiroth’s cell-by Tseng’s description-was _right there_ and the anticipation was painful...but he had to keep a clear head. Flicking a major stasis materia into all relevant cameras, he stepped through...watched as those helmeted heads turned his way.

“Sir” the tech said hastily. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to come back late-!”

He dropped like a rock.

Really, he dropped so hard that there was a distinctive _*crack*_ when his head hit the concrete. Groaning, the dark-haired man slumped to the floor and did not move, blood trickling from his left ear. Immediately, the guards sprung into action, but Genesis was ready. They rushed him in unison, shouting orders of submission from crackling, staticky mouthpieces that he smashed in with the heel of his palm before kicking the one that got to him soonest clear across the hall. And he wasn’t the type of man to revel in violence, but these individuals had _condoned_ Sephiroth’s confinement. They had brought him low in a moment that was already as low as it could get and he would exact some form of justice before all of this was over. They didn’t get the chance to make any more noise; and when he shoved all three bodies into a what looked like a garbage chute at the end of the hall...two with their necks bent at odd angles...he didn’t feel any remorse. Taking a wild guess, he palmed the tech’s keycard and shoved it into his pocket before pressing the compaction command...not bothering to wait and listen to make sure the job was done. He then ripped off the glasses, removed the wig and placed both in the briefcase...breathing heavily.

...And then he was standing in front of Sephiroth’s door.

It was a pivotal moment. Standing there, staring at reinforced steel, the redhead was accosted with a feeling of apprehensive panic. Because he didn’t know what to _do_ now that he was there. Of course, he knew what he _had_ to do...but a part of him was afraid...a part of him was uncertain after so much time apart. Realistically, he knew that the silver-haired man wasn’t going to reject him. Genesis was his only way out...the only access he had to the possibility of ever seeing the sky again. But what if he didn’t _want_ him afterwards? What if he didn’t want to raise their child with him? Realistically, he had a bad track record...and he had made it very clear that he didn’t want children when the topic came up. He felt terribly, horribly guilty for not being more sensitive about such subjects before...about brushing them aside and not discussing the possibility in depth. He should have been more understanding, more kind, more considerate. Because the younger man couldn’t help his biology anymore than he could help being a freckled redhead. His phone chimed again-Tseng’s indication for him to get a move on-and he swallowed. Reaching into his pocket with trembling fingers, the Commander drew out the keycard and slid it into the appropriate slot. There was a deafening beep, hydraulic hinges shuddered...and the door slid sideways.

It was a little like walking into a cloud.

The cell was small...padded…not overly warm nor overly cool. Throwing a greater stasis materia before him, Genesis was glad for it...his eye catching the glimmer of a camera high up on the wall as he entered. It wasn’t homely at all...there was nothing remotely comforting or cheerful about the neutral..inlaid lights or the metal fixtures that seemed to bolt everything to the floor. Bitterly, he wished he had gotten there sooner...immediately reminded himself that there was no way he could have been….that regrets would get him nowhere. A stack of books in the corner made his lips curl into a sneer...mathematics, chemistry...statistics...all things that the green-eyed FIRST was well-versed in already. Still, the pages were dog-eared...as if the reader was desperate to find any new snippets of information in already thoroughly perused text...and he supposed that he must have been. It took him a minute to realize that Sephiroth was sitting on the floor with his back against the cot. When he did, he acknowledged that he couldn’t see any of those familiar features through the long curtain of silver hair obscuring them. A book was laid out on his lap...one hand curled at the edge of an already tattered page.

...The owner of said book was asleep.

It didn’t particularly surprise him. After so much time confined, the former General must have gotten used to the sound of the door...must have written it off biologically. Kneeling, his breath caught in his throat, Genesis reached forward...slowly...carefully, and plucked the textbook off his lap. It seemed like a moment suspended, the way his hands curled over the hard surface of the tomb before gently sliding it away...inch by inch...centimeter by centimeter...until there was a soft _***thump***_ as it hit the ground. Immediately, Sephiroth tensed; his head shot up, all bright green eyes and pale- _beautiful_ -features darting frantically about the room. Those knees curled inwards slightly...feet pressing flat against the floor as slender fingers braced themselves as well, as if prepared to get up and run if necessary. Emerald irises zeroed in on the camera, flickered to the now-closed door, and then landed on him. Those perfect lips parted...features grew flat with shock...with confusion...every muscle in his partner’s body seemed to freeze up...suffused with something neither of them would likely have been able to name. The air was suffused with the younger man’s disbelief, with his hope, with _fear_.

Genesis took it as his cue.

“Seph” he said quietly, leaning forward, placing one hand on a tense knee.

A quiet, choked noise rose from the back of his former comrade’s throat. Something quiet and hopeless and incredibly _lonely._ He watched with an aching heart as that head of platinum hair was bowed once more, as those hands balled into fists.

“What do they want?” he asked flatly.

Frowning, caught off guard by the neutrality of his tone...the sense of fearful apprehension in his body..the Commander faltered.

“What do you mean?”

There was a hiss as air escaped from clenched teeth.

“They want me to get rid of it, because it’s not a boy, don’t they? That’s why you’re here.”

And Genesis understood.

Sephiroth was under the misapprehension that Shinra had allowed him into the cell...that he wasn’t here out of his own volition. And it saddened him to think that the younger man would think him capable of doing such a thing...that he would assume that he would fall in with the rest of the lot simply because he didn’t want the silver-haired man to die. At the same time, it was a testament to how long his partner had been confined...long enough to lose a clear picture of the man he was...of who he had always tried to be for him. It was upsetting, because they both would need to rebuild...they would need to relearn each other and they didn’t have a lot of time to do it. When the baby was born they would need to be a cohesive unit, capable of working together despite sleepless nights and long days. At the thought of his daughter, Genesis’ gaze flickered to the former General’s middle, but both his hair and a protective arm were covering the evidence of his condition...carefully...as if afraid to let him see. Swallowing, the blue-eyed man closed his eyes and prayed fervently that whatever he said next would be conclusive and convincing.

“I’m here _extremely illegally_ to bust you out” he said calmly.

Sephiroth’s head shot up again so fast he was surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash. Green eyes stared at him incredulously, disbelievingly. For the briefest moment, there was the barest flicker of hope behind silver lashes before it bled into panic.

“That won’t work” he muttered. “I’ve looked, they’re always watching, there’s no way out.” Frantically, as if only now realizing the gravidity of the situation, the younger man lunged forward...nearly tripping over himself in his haste so he could grasp both of the scarlet-haired man’s forearms. “They’ll _kill_ you!” he growled. _”Go!”_

Genesis smiled.

Gently, tenderly, he lifted his hands to cup that familiar face, watching with a kind of knowing amusement as the younger man leaned into his touch...as he rose up on his knees to mirror him almost unconsciously. Dropping his head, he let the fingers of one hand wander back to grasp the thick hair at the base of his former comrade’s skull...clutching almost desperately. Sephiroth trembled, the urgency in his palms growing lax under the warmth of physical contact. The redhead could feel the unsteady rhythm of breath just under the shell of his ear as he moved closer...as he gathered that familiar body to him and pressed his face into the crook of a pale neck. Those hard-soft lines...the physicality before him...the thump of a heartbeat...it was all him...all so much of him and he had _missed_ it. Carefully, he released the green-eyed SOLDIER’s hair-keeping the other hand on his cheek as he did so-let his touch run along the base of a powerful spine as he drew back to stare into viridian irises.

“I’m here” he repeated breathlessly, hardly believing it himself. And he let his hand slide from back to front...over a hip to a subtle swell...to the fullness of the life they had created. And it seemed to affirm it...to solidify it as his fingers pressed against the firmness of it, as he closed his eyes and exhaled shakily. Gazing into emerald eyes that seemed to ask as much as they demanded, he continued. “For _both_ of you.”

For a moment, it seemed as if Sephiroth was dangerously close to crying. And if they were somewhere slightly less insanely life-threatening, he would have allowed it...but there was no place for it here. So he was glad when the younger man seemed to pull himself together, when he blinked rapidly and then took a deep breath before letting it out just as violently. Green eyes gazed downwards and for the first time, Genesis let himself look...let himself acknowledge the convex between them as pale fingers rose to cover his, thumb swiping over the knuckles before pushing him away. Frowning, the redhead glanced upwards to see that the former General was flushed, a slight grimace gracing his lips. He refused to meet his eyes when he spoke.

“Sorry” he muttered. “I just-I don’t...it’s too much right now.”

This the older man understood as well. And Genesis couldn’t imagine what it was like, to be confined and alone when so much about yourself was changing. He’d known instinctively that Sephiroth was absolutely _not_ going to be anything like a pregnant woman. He was not going to be sobbing uncontrollably in a corner eating out of a barrel of chocolate, and that was fine. He wanted to reassure him, however...wanted to let him know that despite it, he didn’t think of him any differently. That this-if anything-made him love him _more_. It was therefore a surprise when long arms slid over his shoulders, when graceful fingers carded through his hair as the former General drew him close.

“I missed you.” Low...velvety, in that familiar baritone voice that seemed to shiver into the very essence of his being. Closer and the redhead trembled for it, vibrated with the emotion that was threatening to steal his soul. “I love you.” Sephiroth moved back and then swooped inwards to kiss the edges of his mouth, to cup his cheeks and feed him the evidence of his adulation via his lips. Smooth...soft and they didn’t have the _time_ for this-! _”Mmmm…”_

Okay, so _maybe_ gravidity had altered Sephiroth a little more than he’d initially thought. Because right now the silver-haired man was acting like he wanted to climb him like a tree. Thinking back on what he knew about this-approximate-semester of pregnancy the green-eyed FIRST was in, he acknowledged that this was around the point where-according to the books-women started to feel less gross and more luminous and amazing or some shit like that. The books had also mentioned increased libido, which was nice, but increased libido was effectively disastrous here. Nobody was fucking anybody in this hell-hole, and there was still the matter of his infidelity to discuss. Dragging himself away with great reluctance, Genesis pulled back and put a hand on the younger man’s chest when he tried to follow. When those perfect features looked somewhat hurt, he sighed.

“I love you too” he said gently. “But Seph, we need to _go_.” It seemed to take the younger man perhaps ten seconds to come to his senses. When he did, he was up and bolting for the door before the older man could stop him. Catching a pale wrist, the blue-eyed man yanked him back. “Yeah” he snapped. “That’s not what I was talking about. We need to go _carefully._ There’s a ventilation shaft to the right of your room, we’re taking that.” His eyes flickered down to his stomach. “Will you be okay?”

Green eyes narrowed.

“I’m not invalid” was the deadpan response. “Hurry up.”

Well. Fine.

Inwardly, the redheaded SOLDIER checked ‘horny’, ‘erratic’, and ‘bitchy’ off his list of possible symptoms. Outwardly, he threw another stasis materia at the camera and fumbled with the keycard so he could unlock the door. In the hall, things were still blessedly quiet. Realistically, he could have stopped and thrown a hell of a lot more materia around, but feedback loops were only convincing for so long, and they had about an hour left. The ventilation shaft was exactly where Tseng said it would be, though removing the panel took considerably longer than he wanted it to, and it made a lot of noise. Tearing it back revealed the gaping maw of an inward, metallic path that veered upwards at a slight angle before disappearing into the darkness. Without asking, Sephiroth went first, ducking inwards without a single glance back. Genesis followed more slowly, taking time to secure the panel before catching up with him several feet inwards. It was slow going. They were forced to be quiet as they made their way through the square-shaped...aluminum-esque pathway. This-if possible-was more nerve-wracking than getting to the Science Division. And the single reason behind that was because Sephiroth was _with him_.

To anyone else, their union might have seemed perfunctory...almost careless in its haste and apathy. But Genesis’ silver-haired companion had spent months alone, with little to no human interaction, and he’d spent months in a sort of self-imposed exile trying to figure out a way to free him. They’d have time to talk later, when they could-realistically-concentrate more on each other and less on the fact that they might fucking die at any given moment. The journey was agonizing...slow and yet inundated with haste. Thirty minutes in and they were somewhere above the the water treatment system...by the sound of it anyway. Alarms had begun to blare behind them and he heard rather than saw Sephiroth’s panicked intake of breath, the way his body tensed before relaxing again. Reaching forward, he let his hand grasp the back of a thigh comfortingly-only for a moment-and then let go. Inwardly, he was also somewhat apprehensive. The shafts would be the first place they would check, which meant that they were running on limited time. Still, they were nearly out to the sewers...it wouldn’t be long…

The sewers were inundated with SOLDIERs.

Upon rounding a sharp bend that would lead them out through an intake vent...Genesis was forced to yank his companion backwards...pressing him flat against the metal beneath them as he hissed a warning in his ear. Ahead, where there should have been Angeal and nothing else, was a maze of pipes and valves swarming with recruits. Motionless, there were dozens of guns pointed directly at the vent where they had planned to come out. Thanking Gaia that they hadn’t been stupid enough to assume they were safe, the redhead motioned for them to retreat, this time taking up the lead as they scrambled back the way they had come. Frantically, he searched his mind for options. The opposite direction of the shaft took them directly onto the President’s floor and returning to the Science Division was absolutely not an option. The minute they tumbled back into Hojo’s domain he would likely be killed and Sephiroth would be taken somewhere possibly less comfortable than he’d been before. There were no other directions that this particular shaft went to...and while he didn’t exactly _relish_ the idea, they could always hop from one shaft to another via the President’s floor and hope it took them somewhere better.

Knowing their luck it would take them right into the SECOND class Barracks.

Upward now instead of to the side and there was the sense of dizzying height, the rattle of an elevator thundering downwards...the sound of troops moving through the lift shafts in search of them. No..they didn’t have much time left. Further, and the sounds of panicked hunting died away as they rose above them. There was sunlight ahead...the blood red of an opulent carpet. For the first time, he acknowledged that his knees were _burning_...he didn’t even dare think about how tired Sephiroth might be. Forgoing all sense of caution, the redhead kicked the grate outwards in an explosion of dust and plaster...rolling forth as his companion followed more slowly. There was the audible **_click_** of a loaded weapon, but he was ready for it. Lashing out blindly, the blue-eyed first grabbed the barrel of the gun aimed at his forehead and jerked it away...swiping his leg outwards and relishing the surprised yelp he got in return. The nameless, faceless SOLDIER smashed into an outlying divan and stared at them like they were aliens from outer space. Vaguely, Genesis realized that Sephiroth was currently choking the life out a blond, spiky haired Cadet that looked a lot like a chocobo.

“Leave him” he snapped. “We don’t have time.” The recruit fell in a crumpled heap when he was released but quickly rose to his knees, rubbing his throat as he fumbled for his weapon. Snorting disgustedly, the Commander kicked it away before stomping on a pair of outstretched fingers. To his credit, the blonde didn’t cry out...instead, his breath huffed through his teeth as light blue eyes narrowed with pain. Leaning forward, the scarlet-haired FIRST tilted his head. “Your name...SOLDIER?”

For a moment, it didn’t seem like they were going to get an answer.

“Cloud, Sir. Cloud Strife.”

Genesis ‘hmme’d distractedly, listening to the sound of booted feet as they got closer. Casting his gaze around the President’s residence, he despaired of another way out.

“Cloud” he said slowly. “Save the violence for those who deserve it, and please give Angeal my regards.” Turning to face Sephiroth, his heart ached as he absorbed the exhaustion written across those aquiline features. “We’re going to have to fly...can you do it?” As he spoke, he swung the gun around and fired it into the giant, floor-to-ceiling windows framing a picturesque view of Midgar. There was the screech of shattered glass, the tumble of thousands of pieces crumbling to the floor. Keeping his gaze trained on his partner, the redhead raised a scarlet brow. Slowly, the younger man nodded, the determination in his eyes steely as he stepped away from the wall where they’d crawled out. “This isn’t going to be pretty” the Commander continued.

The smile that graced Sephiroth’s face was one part nostalgia, one part bitterness. The sun caught the edge of his visage as he paced forward; as he reached backward to tear a hole in the shoulder blade of his shirt so he wouldn’t be flying sans top. Dark, feathered pinions burst forth...silhouetted him against the backdrop of Midgar as he waited for the older man to catch up. Green eyes crinkled slightly at the edges as those lips curved once again...as that silver hair caught the light and threw an iridescent halo about it in a riot of color. And it was fitting-the blue-eyed FIRST thought-that the green-eyed SOLDIER should get to fly away from it all...that he should do so of his own volition.

“Shinra has never been pretty” he replied.

There was the splintering sound of the door to the President’s home crashing inwards...but Sephiroth was already gone. And as dozens of trained, obedient men poured into the room...Shinra’s finest broke his tethers and flew free. Finally, finally free. The rest could come later. There were muffled shouts...but the soon-to-be-ex-Commander ignored it….walked forward into shards of glass and the sun and looked toward the sky...towards the shape high above that was a shimmering noir filled with a quiet kind of promise. It beckoned without gesture, spoke love without words...moved him without anything at all. And maybe this was all done to their own ruin...maybe...but there was no other way. And so the last of the Ancients spread his wings among a hail of gunfire and looked skyward to where his lover was winging away…into the blaze of a beautiful, rising sun like an angel thrown from the Heavens to wheel about the clouds.

...Smiling, Genesis followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I'm sorry it's been so long, but it took me getting in the right mindframe to form this chapter. Your thoughts are appreciated, because I don't know if this was too hasty or not. Hopefully it lived up to its expectations. As usual, I'm not satisfied with it, but this has been rewritten far too many times for me to do it again. 
> 
> Fun fact: the fake name Genesis takes means-roughly-'happy frog.' I'm not exactly sure why I picked that, but you can thank etymology online.  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> **R &R**


	7. Chapter 7

Exhaustion. 

Exhaustion was the only prevalent emotion-the only prevalent _feeling_ -in his mind and in his body. Soaring over a nameless jumble of green that must have been a forest, Sephiroth felt like his muscles were howling. Almost equally virulent was his self-hatred...for being weak, for feeling like he was unable to continue forward. Weakness was something that he abhorred, something he had never had an issue with before. He knew-realistically-what they were doing was necessary, but it didn’t change the fact that he was _tired_. And the humanistic part of him wanted to speak up, wanted to beg for a rest, wanted to lie down somewhere and just sleep, but the SOLDIER in him refused to allow that. He couldn’t slow them down, he couldn’t stop just because his physicality had reached every possible limit it possesed. Weakness could get them both killed, _would_ get Genesis killed. But the muscles tied to his wing seemed to get heavier and heavier, as if they were turning into a coagulated...stretchy mess of candyfloss that he couldn’t coordinate. Twice, he’d nearly just dropped out of the sky...but he forced himself to move past it...past the warnings his body was continuously screaming in his ear...past the sting of the wind and the hail of cold.

They flew North.

By unspoken agreement, it seemed that they had both deducted that Shinra would check Wutai first. Despite the fact that Godo was dead, the entire country was in a state of upheaval. It was-ideally-the best place to hide, but they wouldn’t be able to stay in one place for very long. The populace knew their faces, knew what handing them over or holding them hostage might earn them. They couldn’t afford to take that risk; if they got caught, it was too far to fall. The jungles weren’t welcoming either, and while they both could withstand the rain and the wet before all of this, Sephiroth was painfully aware of the fact that his condition didn’t allow for such a rugged state of existence. He wished-not for the first time-that they’d run while they still had the chance to do so, while things were still easy between them. But circumstances had forced their hand, had forced them into this position, and now they had to work with what they possessed; which was little to nothing. They didn’t have any gil, they didn’t even have extra clothes and he was _loathe_ to think where they could possibly get any. Genesis had a small, slim briefcase clutched to his chest with one arm...it made his flying laborious...but whatever was in it had to have been negligible...it wasn’t big enough to carry personal belongings.

Bitterly, he reflected that he’d never been in a situation like this before. Everything he’d ever needed in terms of livelihood had been provided by Shinra. Away missions forced them to improvise, but that improvisation was tactical. And tactics could only get you so far. His redheaded companion was more the survivalist than he was, but he was fairly positive he didn’t know anything about gestation or infants. Provided they survived long enough for birth, neither of them would have a clue what they were doing. They were brilliant in terms of SOLDIER, but when it came down to the domestic, to nurturing...the silver-haired man was certain it was going to be an utter fiasco. Realistically, they didn’t have time to worry about this now; they had more urgent matters to attend to, but the instinctual part of him screamed that they were unprepared, that they had no place to sleep or rest or hide. The milliatarian in him scoffed at his sudden and inconvenient ability to fret, but it was hard to control...took all of his effort to push it to the wayside and focus on what was needed. 

He was also trying to accept that Genesis was real...that this was real. When he’d woken up to find the redhead kneeling next to him in his cell, a part of him had been convinced he was hallucinating. The older man’s touch had negated this concept, but it was still hard to wrap his head around. And he was ashamed of his fragility, even a little bit ashamed of his appearance; because Sephiroth had always been the picture of strength, he valued that picture as a shield. He had taken care of his partner while he was wasting away, knew instinctively that there was very little they hadn’t shared with each other...but that didn’t make it any simpler. So when Genesis had cradled that new...terrifying part of him he hadn’t been able to tolerate it for very long. He was strange enough-or so he thought-as it was...with his undefinable biology, with his appearance and his alien cells. And a small facet of him wondered despairingly when he would ever get to a point where his life could be normal. Maybe he was spending too much of his existence wishing for normalcy, but he couldn’t help it. 

On the flipside, Sephiroth was also grudgingly cognizant of the truth that there was a part of him internally swooning over the fact that Genesis had risked life and limb to get to him. A slightly strange, voyeuristic facet of his mentality wished that he could have seen it. And he hadn’t missed the frantic sort of panic in his partner’s eyes as they crawled through the air shafts, hadn’t missed the way the redhead seemed so careful in his attempt to get them out safely. Obviously, whatever he’d planned initially hadn’t worked...but his follow through was magnificent. Had this been a POW assignment, he was convinced the older man would have gotten promoted to General the minute he returned. It was a testament to his tactical brilliance, to his ability to think on the fly. And he was indescribably grateful to be free, that much was certain. But it didn’t stop him being frightened of what could happen if they were caught, and he was _sick_ of being frightened. 

Nothing about this changed the fact that he was exhausted.

The winged shape he’d been following for so many hours glanced back, seemed to falter as he took in his appearance. Sapphire eyes widened with what looked like shock, and then quickly melted into guilt and self-flagellation. That great, black, feathered appendage flared before the older man stopped abruptly, hovered as the redhead cast his gaze to the ground before zeroing in on something he didn’t have the energy to observe. The silver-haired ex-SOLDIER had to bank heavily to keep himself from running into his companion, and once he’d stopped, the weariness that he’d managed to keep in the background rushed forward to slam into his physical and mental extremities like a freight train. Up so high, the wind was too virulent to allow them to speak with each other, and he hearkened to the sharp downward gesture with nothing but a nod, following Genesis into a dive as they reverted their direction to the earth below. Through the cloud bank and further, until he could make out a forested area...tall trees like evergreen dots that grew steadily as they approached. 

Despite the fact that it was nearly July, this area of the Northern Continent was eternally cold. There wasn’t any snow left-thankfully-but the atmosphere bordered on uncomfortably chilly. _Pinus thunbergii_ , _densiflora_ , and _parviflora_ thrust upwards like oversized matchsticks; fluffy, needle-like foliage creating a chartreuse overhead canopy. Sun filtered down over moss-covered stumps...densely-packed dark soil, ferns, and mossy rocks blanketed with lichen. Star magnolia winked from bushes with glossy, teardrop-shaped leaves and buffalobur was scattered amongst verdant greenery like pearlescent astral pinpoints. A slow-moving brook was almost glassy in its stillness; reflecting the sky like a mirror as the sound of trickling water created a backdrop so serene it nearly left him hysterical. Because such stringent solitude should not exist in a world imbued with such turmoil...but it did. 

When his feet hit the ground, Sephiroth nearly collapsed. The only thing-the only _individual_ -that stopped him from doing so was Genesis. The redhead was quick to support him, one arm looping around his waist as his wing simultaneously disappeared in a hail of feathers. The younger man was too tired to push him away, leaned heavily upon him instead as he did the same...as yet another indication of his strangeness vanished in a storm of noir. Breathing heavily, the silver-haired ex-first attempted to ground himself, eyes drooping as his heartbeat settled into a somewhat normal rhythm...as the world swam around him. When it was clear that he wasn’t going to recover immediately, his scarlet-haired companion led him to a large boulder and carefully let him sit, sinking down beside him with one hand wrapped around his own as the trees creaked about them. He was-suddenly-accosted with a tight feeling in his middle, as if something rubber was expanding within his abdomen only to sharply contract. This happened several times, and he forced himself to breathe through it...to endure it. When the sensation abated, he exhaled raggedly, swallowed and leaned back. 

“I’m so sorry Seph.”

The aforementioned man grunted wearily, pushed his fingers through his hair and dragged his focus inward. The baby-he sensed-was fine. It was good, however, that they’d landed when they had. He neglected mentioning this to Genesis, who was looking so tired he suspected that if they rested too long he might fall over and not get back up. Now that he was looking at him in natural light, the green-eyed man acknowledged that he looked haggard...haunted. Part of him responded with immediate guilt, because he knew that most of it was due to worrying about him. Still, he smelled like sweat and cheap cologne and something else he didn’t care to acknowledge at the moment. Maybe later, when it didn’t feel like he was about to drop dead of exhaustion he would ruminate, but for now they needed to find a place to rest. Assured that the younger man wasn’t going to collapse again, his companion stood and shrugged out of his lab coat; bundling it into the briefcase and hefting it experimentally before making a sound of errant satisfaction. Long fingers ruffled scarlet locks before sapphire irises fell upon him again, before those eyes seemed to tighten minutely in an expression that was one part affection, one part anxiety, and another part...guilt?

“There’s a farmhouse maybe a mile out, I think we can make it before dark if we hurry.” A pause. “Do you think you can make it?”

He wanted to question it, he really did. But his biology insisted that the only way forward now was perseverance. A mile; a mile and he could afford to take such considerations into account. Inwardly gritting his teeth, the green-eyed ex-FIRST stood, accepting the hand proffered to him despite the part of him that insisted he didn’t need it. He had seen Genesis at his worst, he wasn’t going to let his pride get in the way of their bond. For a second, he let his fingers linger...locked his gaze with the older man’s and tried to communicate his gratuity. Blue irises softened, a tentative smile graced familiar lips. He returned it, barely; most of his concentration now was zeroed in on the fact that he didn’t have any shoes. Thankfully, the ground was softened somewhat with an overlay of pine needles, and the terrain wasn’t virulently steep, rocky, or slippery. It was-if he forced himself to focus on the positives-really quite beautiful. As they fell into a steady but not overly-hasty pace, he considered the fact that he wouldn’t mind revisiting it during better, less-pressing times.

They didn’t talk while they walked, and a part of him was glad for it. He could barely think past putting one foot in front of the other. Still, there was a strangeness to the redhead’s silence; something borne out of more than weariness. Genesis was worried about something-or several somethings-but his time confined had severely lessened his social abilities, let alone his ability to concentrate on such things when he was so weary. By the time the trees started to thin, it was nearing dusk. The sunlight that had once filtered rather strongly through interlaced branches was a dim backdrop...a halo of soft yellow before the death of the day. The temperature had dropped significantly, and while it wasn’t cold enough yet to be uncomfortable, Sephiroth would still have liked some indication that their journey was nearly over. This wish-thankfully-was short-lived before it morphed into something granted. 

The ‘farmhouse’-as his redheaded companion had put it-was really more of a homestead. In consideration of the main structure, his eyes immediately took in the thatched roof, the heavy beams and the wooden siding. Dark wooden clapboard climbed perhaps halfway up the exterior-vertical in placement-before being replaced with what looked like a rough-material stucco. Heavy-possibly oaken-double doors doors sported large metal knockers...the entryway somewhat inlaid in contrast to the rest of the house. Two-storied, with the second-floor windows just-barely peeking out from underneath the thatch, it was a modest establishment. Certainly nothing compared to the towering skyscrapers around HQ. Around it, a vegetable garden was painstakingly tended. Lettuce, parsley, tomatoes and other edibles that fared somewhat better in the harsh climate. These too were surrounded by wooden fences containing an assortment of livestock. The former General counted about four sows and a bull, a paddock with six chickens and a very large swine. There was-at the rear-the familiar trill of a chocobo, but it couldn’t be seen from the angle at which they approached. Close to them was a bee hutch, and they gave it wide berth. Here, Genesis paused, held up a careful hand and motioned that he was going ahead. Despite his irritation at taking orders, the younger man relented. Not because he wanted to, but because he genuinely wanted to sleep at some point.

Watching as the redhead skirted the pig-chicken pen, he sat down on a rough-hewn tree stump to wait. Around him, fireflies were slowly rising out of the grass. Like tiny, winking yellow stars they ascended from their green, frothy havens to dart about and then buzz towards the slowly growing moon. A soft meow to his left, and he turned his head sharply to observe an old cat watching him from atop a well. It blinked its great, yellow eyes at him before darting into the bushes. There was a rough dirt track going up to the front door, a rocker on the porch and a pail next to the wooden front stoop. Someone had left the laundry hanging out over the vegetable garden; cotton and wool fluttered like many colored ghosts caught in the sweet, soft breeze. It was-vertiably-beautiful. Whoever had made this place...so far from civilization, had built it with the intention of making it a home. And a magnificent home it was. 

It took some time for Genesis to return.

When he did, it was with weary, defeated steps. Those blue eyes were filled with something he couldn’t name, and when he reached the younger man, he didn’t sit beside him. Instead, he stood before him, his gaze far off in the distance as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Two” he said dully. “Elderly. Male and female, most likely a couple.” The redhead swallowed. “They won’t put up much of a fight, we can make it quick.” 

And Sephiroth understood.

His former comrade had chosen this spot because the inhabitants would be few and easy to kill. It was-he acknowledged bitterly-again a brilliant tactic. It wasn’t an _ethical_ tactic, but they had been forced to leave ethics behind when Shinra had thrown them together in his apartment and carved their fate from blood and tears. Letting his face settle into a customary sort of blankness, the silver-haired ex-soldier nodded and pushed himself off the stump. Genesis’ shoulders slumped even more as he did so, as if he’d been halfway hoping he would refuse the suggestion. Sardonically, he wondered if the blue-eyed man realized how very few choices they had. Briefly, they discussed tactics, but in the end, going under the guise of weary travellers was their best bet. They weren’t dressed for it, but they were just looking to get in, not to get friendly. As they approached the front door, Sephiroth found himself hesitating. With one foot poised to ascend onto the porch, the older man stopped but didn’t turn...as if waiting for him to catch up. 

In the end, it was too easy.

The woman who opened the front door looked to be in her early to mid-seventies. Frail, but obviously not in poor health, she didn’t seem to recognize either of them, which was somewhat of a relief. She wore a simple brown dress that fell to her knees and a kerchief wound ‘round her neck. Her eyes were rheumy but sharp, and her voice was warm. Sephiroth could immediately tell that she reminded Genesis of Itrine. To ameliorate this, he caught the blue-eyed man’s eye and nodded...indicating that he should focus on their other target. The relief that flooded across those aquiline features was both painful and bitter. The woman introduced herself as Biaute, and the minute they crossed over the threshold, she began to fret over them. A sharp tongue clucked over his shoeless state as he stepped into the homely foyer, as he caught a glimpse of a kitchen to the right before a blanket was thrown over his shoulders and he was practically thrown into a rocking chair. 

“We don’t get many visitors here” she chattered. “I’ve just made dinner, do you fancy some?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, the former General could sense his partner getting more and more tense. As detached as he usually was from necessity and emotionalism, the green-eyed ex-soldier could feel his will wavering. He was-clinically-able to chalk it up as lack of human contact for the better part of a year. Of course he would be soft to kindness, he’d hardly had any for who knew how long. But that didn’t change the fact that Biaute was the essence of her name...inside and out. His redheaded companion was swatted into an armchair soon after he was, and they were regaled with the tale of a husband who’d just gone out to fetch water. T’arm, his name was...and they’d married young without their parents approval. It was very obvious that the lady of the house was-rightfully-proud of their home. She whisked the former Commander’s shoes to the door the minute he took them off and swept after them once they’d been seated. 

In retrospect, it was all going too well.

T’arm came in whistling a tune, but he also came in with a rifle. And it was very clear, from his expression, that he knew who they were. The firearm was raised without hesitation, pointed directly at Sephiroth. There was a rushing noise, a sense of someone-or something-moving at great speed, and then Genesis had knocked the gun out of his hands, had pivoted behind him to grasp his head with both palms and twist sharply. There was a deafening _***crack***_ , T’arm’s body shuddered and went limp, and then he fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Biaute screamed but the silver-haired man was already up and running. Her death was equally swift, in much the same manner...and when the final echoes of that ear-shattering crunch faded...they stood facing each other...faces so white they were nearly translucent. Mechanically, Sephiroth let the corpse in his fingers hit the floor...backed away-stumbled-and then nearly fell back into the rocking chair.

It was quiet.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. It was a testament to the cold-hearted, deliberate cruelty of their actions. Because while both of them had killed before, neither of them had ever killed innocents deliberately...with no mind-control or otherwise grievous focus. The bitter tang that this verity brought with them was almost tangible, he could almost taste it on the tip of his tongue. So they merely stared at each other in the quiet of their slaughter as the world seemed to swirl around them. Green against blue...fire and moonlight and everything that was awful and needful, and everything that _would_ be awful and needful if they wanted to survive. And Sephiroth didn’t _want_ this, didn’t want to always live on this terrible line that seemed to eternally straddle right and wrong. His entire life, he’d been forced to think obligatorily, subjectively. And he’d promised himself over and over again in his cell that if he ever got out he would never stoop so low again. Now, he’d done more than that. Actions like this stained the soul...and he could already feel the dark necrosis of it seeping over his psyche. He didn’t feel any of the exhilaration in killing he’d felt with Jenova...only a nameless, formless yet massive self-disgust. 

Eventually, the deep lowing of one of the sows brought them out of their reverie. It was truly night now, and the only lights in the cottage were coming from the kitchen. Genesis seemed to unfreeze, to come back to himself...a haunted look in his eyes as he ran a hand through his hair and cast his gaze over the bodies. This didn’t seem to assuage him...whatever he was looking for anyway, and for a moment Sephiroth was truly concerned he was going to breakdown. Instead, those cerulean irises turned hard as ice, cerise lips forming a tight, thin line as he strode forward and then began to drag Biaute’s body next to that of her husband. When the younger man opened his mouth to protest, he received a chilly glare. This almost immediately softened into a kind of weary affection, and the redhead dropped a cadaveric arm to stride over to him and cup his cheek. 

“Why don’t you go and see what there is to eat?” the scarlet-haired man hesitated before continuing. “I’m...going to bury them.” Another pause, and when the eldest of the duo spoke again, his voice was choked. “Somewhere _beautiful.”_

And again, Sephiroth wanted to protest, but the look in those eyes said that this was personal. That this was something he could not remedy with stoicism and simple presence. When it became clear he wasn’t going to argue, the former Commander stepped away, and he forced himself to rise-to not watch-as his companion began the task of dragging the bodies away. Stepping into the kitchen, he was greeted with the view of a simple metal table topped with a cheery checkered tablecloth. Two chairs of similar make sat on either side. There was a refrigerator, a microwave, an old gas-powered stove and various brightly painted ceramic knick knacks he refused to ruminate on. True to her word, Biaute had indeed been cooking dinner; some type of soup by the look of it...along with a fluffy looking biscuit. Standing before the range, torn between the mouthwatering smell coming from the saucepan and the idea of eating the food of the individual he’d just murdered in cold blood...Sephiroth wavered. 

In the end, his stomach won out over his sense of guilt. 

Rummaging around for tupperware and a spoon, he didn’t even bother to glance at the contents before he sat down in a chair and began to work his way to the bottom. And it was _good_. It had been so long since he’d tasted something...well, something that had any taste at all. Every facet of flavor was something glorious wrought on his tongue, and it wasn’t long before he’d finished. It took him less time to consume one of the rolls...which was equally as heavenly. And so it was that fifteen minutes later, he found himself staring at the bottom of an empty ceramic bowl listening to the **_thump_** of Genesis shoveling dirt over two corpses who had done nothing save for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. His stomach rolled slightly, and he pressed a hand to his mouth to fight down the nausea. Resolutely, he told himself-for what seemed like the thousandth time-that there was nothing they could have done, that they’d done what they had to. It didn’t make it better. As his mind descended into a black spiral of guilt and disgust, the meal he’d just eaten decided it was better off out than in. The chair clattered backwards as he stumbled upward, as he managed to blindly fumble his way outside so he could be sick over the railing of the front porch. 

By the time he’d somewhat recovered, Genesis had sprinted around the side of the house and up the stoop to hold his hair back; one hand resting on the small of his back as they both waited for his symptoms to subside. When he’d stopped spilling what felt like his entire digestive system over the wooden bannister, the redhead disappeared and reappeared with a glass of water. He took it with a breathless, exhausted nod, pacing backwards to drop into a rough-hewn chair near to the front door. His companion remained, looking pale and somewhat discomfited.

“What the hell were they feeding you in there?”

It took him some time to reply, mostly because his mouth didn’t seem to want to form the words. Clearing his throat, Sephiroth set the glass down and opened his mouth.

“The essentials. Nothing seasoned, nothing-” he swallowed “-Just nutrients.”

The redhead swore.

“Well that explains it” he spat, his voice trembling somewhat. “I should’ve known better. Your stomach won’t be able to handle complex foods for a while. We’ll have to start slow.” 

“I’m equally as culpable” the silver-haired man muttered irritably. “We’re taught factors like this during survival training.” 

It seemed like his companion wanted to argue, and Sephiroth wished he just _wouldn’t_. He was too tired to defend his stance. In the end, the older man settled with an unintelligible grumble before falling into silence once more. Again, the green-eyed ex-soldier was accosted with the sensation that something was off between them...something besides months of separation and silence. After some time, by mutual agreement they returned to the house and locked the front door. Genesis rummaged about for a while before coming up with some oatmeal, which the younger man ate with considerable resentment. The redhead began to make some for himself, but the former General snapped at him to _’just eat the soup, Genesis’_...and after a few longing looks at the stove, he relented. As much as he valued equality, Sephiroth didn’t need to be babied. The oatmeal settled more easily in his stomach, and he immediately assigned himself to dish duty despite his companion’s protests. The remains of the stew were placed in the refrigerator and they both took to separate tasks for a while. Midnight found them sitting at the kitchen table again going through household records. It didn’t appear that the previous tenants had any family, including children. This was a sincere relief, because it meant that no one would come looking for them. It seemed that they did some trade with a nearby farm that was considerably larger, but this was only during winter months when food grew scarce. They lived off the land, with no other source of income...and that would ultimately work in their favor.

“What’s our trajectory?” Sephiroth asked bluntly, throwing down an old finance booklet. 

Shifting through a list of household inventories, Genesis paused and then sat back. Laying the papers down, he scrubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath.

“We can’t stay forever” he finally replied. “It’s not realistic. Someone is bound to look here eventually, and Shinra knows we flew North. Right now, I’m too tired to give it a time limit.”

“Neither of us are farmers” the younger man said dourly. The redhead smiled.

“I know a little bit, and it’s not like we’re going to be milling wheat or threshing corn. The Hewley farm was a lot like this one, before Angeal’s Dad died. Gillian had to downsize...after. When I visited I had to do just as much work as he did, it was fun. And my...adoptive father was always big on understanding how is employees operated.” A shrug. “When we leave we could always let the animals go.” 

“Something’s on your mind” the green-eyed ex-SOLDIER pressed. Almost immediately, those blue eyes shifted elsewhere, and that cold feeling of uncertainty returned.

“I’m worried about Angeal.” When the silver-haired man narrowed his eyes in question, his companion elaborated. “He was supposed to meet us at the sewers, but he wasn’t there. I don’t know if that means he was intercepted, if his apartment was bugged, or if he was just held up.” A pause. “I’m...not entirely willing to turn my back on the idea of a reformed SOLDIER yet. I don’t believe in abandonment.” 

“We can’t hide forever” Sephiroth agreed, leaning his elbows on the table and propping his chin in his hands. “I’m not...when this is over...I’m not going to be some type of… _housewife_.” 

At this, the scarlet-haired man laughed. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to be” he chuckled. “Seph-” the mirthful expression slipped from his face, as if something terrible had occurred to him. “I...should probably tell you…” That cold feeling was back, along with a painful, shivering sort of anticipation. Clearing his throat, the older man looked away. “My mother died.” The green-eyed man opened his mouth to speak, but a raised hand gave him pause. It trembled slightly before lowering onto the checkered tablecloth. “I...I don’t really remember everything, but I went to the Outskirts...I got drunk...someone...I..” He didn’t need to keep talking, it was fairly clear to the former General what had happened. “It didn’t get-he-there’s not an excuse, but we didn’t go all the w-”

“-Did you fuck him?” Sephiroth asked, and his voice came out thinner than he’d have liked, despite the fact that he pushed for it to be stronger. 

“I- _what?_.” 

“Did you _fuck_ him?” the younger man growled through gritted teeth.

Pale, seemingly aware that he’d just torn his world down around his ears, Genesis appeared to shrink into himself. 

“No, no I didn’t” he muttered. “And it would have been the other way around, for the record-” A wince. “-Though I’m sure you didn’t care to know that. Aerith found me, with Tseng...it was the day before yesterday. If she hadn’t...I think I would have...but I was drunk-”

“-Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Sephiroth said in a dangerously low voice. Another flinch. “That you were so wasted you just felt it was _needful_ to bend over in some nameless hole-in-the-wall-”

“-No, no it’s not. But Seph, I _lov-_!”

 _”-Don’t!”_

The sound of the chair scraping back as the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER stood was nearly deafening. When he did, the room spun somewhat, and he swayed. Putting a hand over his eyes, he forced himself to remain composed...controlling his breathing as he attempted to process what he’d been told. He wondered-hysterically-if this was what all of the redhead’s other romantic conquests felt when he rejected them. This bottomless, betrayed sort of ache that seemed to crawl its way from his heart and into his belly. The fact that his psyche was screaming for him to push it away was even more painful; not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. The irony of it didn’t escape him, the circumstances surrounding it were not without their touch of dark humor. It was bitter to him, _so bitter_. And he wanted to throw something, to break something, to _strangle someone_ , but even with the truth of his horrid injustice he couldn’t. He couldn’t, because despite it he still loved Genesis with every bone in his body. More than that, the baby _responded_ to Genesis’ voice...to the soft, poetic timbre of his tone whenever he was close. As the thought crossed his mind, moisture sprung up behind his eyes...but he didn’t let it fall. He would _not_ be weak. 

“I suppose I should thank Aerith” he said coldly. But I’m not going to. I quit drinking for you” he continued, and Genesis recoiled as if struck. He chuckled, but it was dull and hollow. “Isn’t it ironic?” Shuddering, he tried to force himself to rationalize, to _understand_ but it was so, so painful. More painful than he’d ever thought something like this would be. “Your ‘mother’ never showed you an ounce of interest until you forced your way in” he said raggedly. “I...I didn’t need that from you.” The scarlet-haired man made to speak again, but he threw him a glare filled with vitriol. _”Don’t_...just...don’t.” He was suddenly so exhausted his legs felt like they were going to give out from under him. “I’m going to bed. I need...time.” Pausing at the doorway, he glanced back in time to see the older man nod...his face a void of despair. For a moment, he felt a pang of guilt, but he quickly shoved it away. “She wasn’t there” he said dully. “I was there, I was always _there_...even when you couldn’t see me. I thought about you every day-” 

He broke off, because it looked like Genesis was going to burst into tears and he didn’t know if he could continue with his anger if he did. The green-eyed man about-faced and headed for the stairs leading to the upper floors. There was a Master bedroom looking out over the lawn with a spacious bathroom, along with a guest bedroom. He ignored this, the only thing in his mind a sort numb, trembling essence of grief. When his head hit the pillows, his body briefly acknowledged that it was the softest place he’d laid down in nearly a year. He tried to sleep, tried to close his eyes and descend into the dark abyss that had been lingering at the edges of his consciousness for the entire day, but he couldn’t. His partner’s confession kept rolling around in his mind...over and over, until it was more than a confession...until it was a terrible truth. And the agony that pierced his heart then was too much...too overwhelming...and he was _sick_ of being the strong one, the cold one, the one who always hid everything he felt behind something structured and analytic. So when Genesis’ footsteps led him to the guestroom, he didn’t ask him to join him. He would need time...he didn’t know how _much_ time, but he needed it. And as the door across the hall from him closed with a soft thump, the grief that had held itself at bay for so long bubbled forth from his throat and onto his lips...until he was forced to press his head into the pillows to muffle it.

Sephiroth cried.

And then he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** This was hard to write. But realistically, it needed to be addressed. To be frank, I'm not going to spin this argument out very long, for reasons that will become clear. And the circumstances of Genesis' infidelity stand on technical ground, for reasons that will also become clear. Regardless, I'm sorry =/ And I hope this chapter was otherwise satisfactory. Thank you for reading! 
> 
>  
> 
> **R &R**
> 
>  **Edit:** It also occurs to me that there is a lot of vomiting in my fics lmao. I'm really sorry for that, I don't really know why there's this rampant regurgitation factor. hell, that sounds horrible lol. But, yeah! ugh.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The author sacrificed themselves to the gods of fluff and smut. They were subsequently returned to life with a basket of lube, a barrel of baby bunnies, a NSFW sticker, and a fuzzy blanket.

Two weeks.

Sephiroth hadn’t spoken to Genesis-save for the necessities-in two weeks. Standing in the yard squinting against the early morning light, the redhead huffed quietly before shrugging more deeply into the jacket he’d found. He knew, instinctively, that this was what should have been expected. It didn’t make it any more pleasant, however, and it didn’t make him hate himself less. He regretted his actions, deeply...and he couldn’t go back in time and make them go away. There would always be this truth between them...the verity of the dark stain he’d placed so carelessly on their relationship. Truthfully, he was simply glad that the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER hadn’t left. It was a testament to the younger man’s awareness of their situation, of the fact that both of them knew they couldn’t survive very long without the other. In retrospect, it also felt like he had _trapped_ Sephiroth into this, and if he was feeling that way, he couldn’t imagine how his formehr comrade felt. He had entertained the idea of leaving for a while, but he couldn’t leave their respective chores and surveillance tasks to his companion; it was simply asking too much of him.

Despite the fact that they were barely speaking, they worked well together. Sephiroth rose early out of habit and fed the animals while he cooked breakfast. He was aware that their situations in that respect would have to be reversed eventually when constant physical activity became too much of a strain. For now, he was content to let the green-eyed ex-first do what he wanted. The farm was very low maintenance. The cows kept the grass fairly short, and he quickly learned that moving them from one area of the yard to another was an easy way to make sure that he never had to mow the lawn. There was a barn for them at the rear of the property, and he put them there every night out of habit because it felt like the right thing to do. With the weather warming up, they didn’t really need to be brought in from their ‘pasture’, but he liked the routine and it seemed to warm them to him. He was-so he discovered-very terrible at milking a cow, but he knew from the little he had gleaned from the Hewley farm that it was needed to preserve their health. Several times, he was grateful for his advanced reflexes, or he was very sure he would be missing a significant amount of his face.

The pig was a different story.

As far as muddy creatures went, Genesis had always been somewhat under the impression that that was all pigs were; muddy. In truth, they were also horrendously stubborn and a little bit mean. He named the animal in question Drac because her personality was just about level with several dragons he had fought a long time ago. In truth, he might have to thank her, because she was the main reason the ice had started to thin between him and his partner. A week before, he’d been dragging her to the barn for the night when he slipped in some of the mud that seemed to be constantly dripping from her giant, rotund body and gotten tangled in the length of rope he’d been using to tow her across the yard. Drac had proceeded to drag him the length of the paddock-screaming the entire way-until Sephiroth somehow managed to rescue him. With his lips twitching mightily, the younger man had called him an _’idiot’_ as he lay on the ground cursing and then practically run back into the house. Seconds later, the redhead was treated to the sounds of his muted howls of laughter. The day after, he was just as cold and impersonal as before, but there was a softness to his eyes that hadn’t been there for a long time.

The Chocobo hated him.

Really, _hate_ was too nice a word. The minute it had laid eyes on him it had ‘wooby-wooed’ itself into a ferocious frenzy and then proceeded to bolt off into the forest. It took Genesis the better part of the day to find it, and then the better part of the night to bring it back. Never, _ever_ in his life had he imagined he would need to play the carer to a monstrous, fluffy yellow animal. But that day, and the days after it, he did. In retrospect, chocobos developed deep emotional bonds with their owners, so it was kind of understandable. What was _not_ understandable was the way it seemed to be lying in wait for him around every corner. Crest rigid, beady eyes nearly burning in their...beadiness, it seemed like he was constantly having to watch his back whenever he stepped out the door. This was also something that was ameliorated by Sephiroth, who eventually got so tired of hearing him bitch that he stomped outside in the middle of the night to deal with it. The former Commander had no idea what he’d said or done, only that there was a lot of avian ‘yelling’ and then silence and his partner came back in covered with feathers looking like the world was entirely worthy of murder. After that, the Chocobo was content to sit in its paddock and glare hatefully at him while he went about his daily chores. He didn’t name it. Because in his opinion, something so entirely insane did not deserve christening.

 

Thankfully, the chickens behaved. Though, in retrospect, he was under the impression that chickens were just chronically stupid. The rooster was a different story, but the blue-eyed ex-first avoided him when he could. Otherwise, he was perfectly content to stuff him somewhere obscure while he tried to get things done to avoid getting mauled by a territorial fowl. Gardening was swiftly becoming the easiest task available to him, and he did it with a savage sort of thoroughness that was ingrained from Basic Training. How he practiced a belly crawl between two large cabbage patches was solely a miracle he didn’t care to ruminate on, but it was with the intention of catching a rabbit who thought it was perfectly fine to eat the parsley he’d been attempting to revive for the better part of a week. There was no way in hell he was letting something vaguely shaped like a stuffed animal he used to own do that, and it made a pretty good soup at the end of the day. This was also an incidence where Sephiroth was covertly mirthful in the face of his discomfort. And while it took forever to get the dirt out of his hair, he was happy to see the younger man happy regardless.

They depersonalized the cottage out of necessity.

By some unspoken communication, they threw out all the knick-knacks, photos, and various decorative items their third day entrenched. Killing T’arm and his wife wasn’t something he was proud of, but they had still done it. Stripping the sheets from both beds and throwing out whatever clothes they couldn’t use was the easiest way of moving past the issue. Genesis used what he assumed was spare bedding and whatever clothes they could find that would fit them. Thankfully, there were spare shirts, pants, and various items reserved for outerwear that fit them well enough, though the cuffs were a bit ragged around the edges. Neither of them were looking for anything fancy, just something that was other than costuming and medical scrubs. The former Commander could honestly say that he looked horrible in red plaid. The entirety of it, coupled with his hair, was disgusting...but there was nothing he could do about it. Jeans were also not a normal staple of his wardrobe, but they were lined with fleece and very warm. And if Sephiroth thought that he looked like he’d just rolled out of a barnyard-which he kind of did-at the end of each day, he was too angry with him to comment on it, so he simply let it be.

Food was-thankfully-something they had in great abundance. There were large stores of preservatives, dried meat, bread, and grain in the cellar. And while neither of them were five-star chefs, they both knew how to make a decent meal. They took turns at it come dinnertime, and while they weren’t able to heavily season anything due to Sephiroth’s confinement, it was still wholesome and good. The vegetable garden was a good source of fresh produce, and while he wasn’t exactly a fan of greens, he still ate them so his companion didn’t feel ostracized whenever he placed a salad in front of him before every meal. Because as far as he was concerned, Sephiroth was too thin for someone who was entering the third trimester. There were deep shadows under his eyes and a pale, exhausted pall seemed to follow him wherever he went. The swell at his middle was small...contoured tightly to the frame of his body and while he knew next to nothing about male pregnancy, it was still very obvious that Shinra had been doing the bare minimum to keep both his lover and his child alive. By the time the second week was ending, some of the color had returned to his cheeks, but he’d have liked to have seen more improvement.

He had to get started soon.

Letting his gaze drop to his empty cup of coffee, the blue-eyed ex-soldier resigned himself to another day of mucking around. He was going to deal with the cows first because at least they didn’t attack him once they got wind he was coming, and they were generally peaceful animals unless he did a very bad job of milking them. The sound of footsteps gave him pause. Poised with one foot hiked up to climb the wooden fence in order to make his customary shortcut to the barn, the redhead looked over a shoulder as the former General approached, his expression unreadable. Dressed in a twill jacket, the collar of a woolen shirt peeked out just above a forest green zipper. He was wearing black jeans; an unusuality for him...the older man rarely saw him in anything other than sweatpants. That wealth of platinum hair was gathered over one shoulder...spilling down the front of his coat as he narrowed emerald eyes. His former comrade tilted his head questioningly, his eyes flickering to the side as a barn cat ran between them before settling once more on his companion.

“...How drunk were you?”

Finally.

Abandoning his perch, Genesis took his time to reply...trying to sift through the events of that hazy nightmare as his stomach curled slightly at the memory. Leaning on a fencepost, he sighed before looking away.

“He...was paying my tab at the bar and I didn’t know it. I just kept drinking until I couldn’t stand up. I don’t know the exact amount, _too much_...definitely. And once-” he swallowed. “-Once he touched me, I couldn’t push him away. I _wanted_ to. Fuck, I hated it...but I could barely see what was two feet in front of me as it was.”

Glancing downward, the former Commander allowed the silence between them to stretch. Realistically, he had known that the younger man would eventually come to him for an explanation, but even with it before him, he couldn’t conscience his actions. The recollection that was most prominent was the sense of helplessness, of knowing that he’d done something incredibly stupid to his own peril.

“Who were you thinking of?”

Genesis exhaled shakily.

“You...I was thinking of you.” When no answer was forthcoming, he continued. “It doesn’t-it doesn’t make it _right_ but it was the only thing I could do.” He closed his eyes. “I just...was so fucking stupid about it. I could have done something-”

“-You couldn't've.”

Surprised, the scarlet-haired ex-soldier looked up. Sephiroth’s eyes were tired...exhausted really, and somewhat sad. The smile that flickered across his lips was tinged with bitterness.

“I know what it’s like to be that...that wasted. You don’t have any control over your bodily responses, over your coordination.” Two of the chickens made a loud squabbling noise in the roost and they both stilled in order to listen. “Did you say no?” the green-eyed ex-SOLDIER asked at length.

“I said I wasn’t available” he whispered in response.

Those emerald irises hardened, but he sensed that for once the anger in them wasn’t directed at him.

“That’s as good as no” was the frigid reply.

“I still...I still _enjoyed_ it…” Genesis trailed off, afraid of saying too much.

The younger man appeared to be considering his statement.

“When...you can’t orient yourself logically, due to inhibition...no is still no. And victims still-” he swallowed and looked away. “-Victims can still experience arousal, can still respond even if it’s not consensual. Even if they don’t want it.”

He realized-with terrible clarity-that Sephiroth was comparing his experience to what Hojo had done to him in the labs.

“My situation wasn’t anything like yours,” he said miserably. “And I acted like I wanted it...I don’t-I don’t know if I would have wanted it if I was sober, but I wasn’t and there’s no point wondering about it now.”

The sound of approach, of ingress, and the hands that wrapped around his waist were large...warm, and comforting. And he didn’t feel like _deserved_ that comfort, but it was still there. He leaned into that solid, familiar chest as if it was the last time he would be able to do so. Dimly, the redhead was aware of the minimum intransigence between them, of the fact that the baby didn’t allow them to press as close as they normally might have. Sephiroth’s fingers were carding through his hair, and he swallowed against the moisture that bloomed in his eyes, exhaled shakily and lifted a palm to cup a smooth cheek. He didn’t know if the gesture was welcome...if he could really touch like he was touching now. But that soft, smooth skin was so beautiful, so readily giving that he couldn’t help himself. Dry lips on his forehead, barely-there and slightly tremulous and his breath hitched involuntarily. Long, clever digits cupped his chin, tilted his head up so emerald could meet sapphire… ...And Sephiroth smiled. It was overshadowed by pain, though he sensed it was more _for_ him than _at_ him. Genesis wanted to cry, because he didn’t deserve that sort of look, that understanding that murmured that the younger man’s mentality was akin to him instead of separate.

“Do you think you can let all this farming go for the day?”

Against his will, Genesis chuckled...felt his eyes turn up at the corners as his mouth widened into a soft, sweet sort of smile. There was a soft nudge against his abdomen and his mirth turned into a sort of laughing sob. Carefully, so as to give his partner time to pull away, he let his hand drop to palm the lower curve of the swell between them. Those beautiful eyes tightened somewhat, but Sephiroth didn’t retreat. Another flutter, and it felt like the world moved out from under him like they were suspended in that single moment.

“I think,” the redhead said after some time. “I’m an idiot.”

That slow, sangfroid voice answered his mirth with a quiet laugh.

 “You’re my idiot.”

 

* * *

 

They spent the rest of the day indoors.

Genesis made something that resembled chicken cordon bleu but was really just chicken with a lot of cheese on top of it with bits of ham. They ate it curled up on the threadbare couch in the living room listening to the radio which was fraught with news of the escape of two ‘dangerous defectors’ who would kill anyone that they came in contact with. Glancing around the space that wasn’t his somewhat guiltily, the redhead acknowledged that at least that part of the missive was very correct. He would happily kill anyone he came in contact with to keep them safe. What was not true was that they were deranged and unstable psychopaths; they were expectant parents trying to keep the most powerful company in the world from taking their unborn child and throwing her into servitude.

He had a million questions.

Most of them pertaining to Sephiroth; specifically, to his time imprisoned. He didn’t know how to ask them, however, so he kept quiet. Instead, he let the silver-haired man ask about his suspension, about what had gone with Shinra during his time away. It was easy to fall back into their usual routine, into comfortable, tactical chatter that drowned out the reality of their situation. He stumbled over his time at Fort Condor, and those green eyes were so soft...so gentle that he nearly threw his plate on the floor so he could kiss those beautiful lips senseless. As it was, he settled with nudging the younger man with his toes until his companion grumpily withdrew them. Later, when they were huddled under a patchwork quilt smelling faintly of garlic that he’d found in the cellar, Sephiroth laid his head on Genesis’ lap and listened to his voice, those emerald irises gazing off at the far wall with a sleepy, contented sort of emotion behind them. It wasn’t exactly easy...talking about the long stretch of time they’d been apart. The emotions that he’d kept at bay surfaced with a kind of virulence he didn’t know what to do with. When the words got muddled up over his tongue a long-fingered hand would brush over his until he managed to get his voice out from whatever foothold it was tripped up over at the time.

“Ask me.”

It was dark. They’d spent the majority of their time relearning how to work around each other, how to talk to each other in this world that was so different from the dogma-imbued universe they’d left behind. The remains of dinner were scattered on the coffee table in front of them; plates and cups hastily stacked and then discarded so they could curl into each other once more. Facing one another, their legs were entwined beneath the coverlet, Genesis’ head was resting on a broad shoulder as the green-eyed ex-SOLDIER spoke...as he ran long fingers through his hair for what felt like the thousandth time. The fabric under his nose was a little rough...the musculature under his fingers bunched and yet giving. Beneath all this was the scent of the man before him...distinctly his...distinctly Sephiroth. Shifting slightly, the redhead sighed...reluctant to give up the gravid peace between them, the silence that demanded nothing but the cognizance of the other. When the former General gently nudged him, a frown furrowed his brow as he blinked sleepily and opened his mouth.

“What’s it like?” he murmured.

As he spoke, he let his hand brush just-barely over the protrusion between them, over the thin fabric separating skin from skin. The stillness that settled over the younger man was telling, as was the way he seemed to burrow further under the quilt.

“I don’t particularly like it” was the flat reply. “And I’m not...descriptive, it’s hard to explain it.” A large palm covered his, thumb stroking over his knuckles. “Just...different, so different and so strange.” A nudge in response to his touch and the silver-haired man breathed out heavily through his nose. “Strange, yet somehow beautiful...like everything we are.”

Brevity-in Sephiroth’s case-was the soul of wit. Because the way he described it was so gorgeously succinct. Enough for him to hearken to it and no more. It was in his strangeness that the younger man was beautiful...in his silence, in his solidarity. And Genesis supposed that he wouldn’t have taken anything else as an answer, because it wouldn’t have been that of the individual before him. Slowly, so as not to startle the man before him, the blue-eyed first let the quilt slide from them and onto the floor. It hit the hardwood with the negligible sound of fabric against unforgiving surfaces. He then allowed tremulous digits to creep downwards...over the stretch of Sephiroth’s shirt to the hem before sliding them beneath. The epidermis beneath it was warm...taut, and when the younger man didn’t push him away...he slid the garment upwards...exposing the pale flesh beneath.

He could feel green eyes watching him with a sort of apprehensive curiosity as he splayed his fingers wide over alabaster skin...as he tilted his head from its position on the younger man’s shoulder so he could observe. Over the rise of his midriff, over the circular indentation of a bellybutton to follow the declination...lips parting slightly as he did so. Someone’s insufflation was arrested-it was hard to tell whose it was-and that specific juncture of chronology seemed to falter...to pause. And it was so _real_ like this, before him. Not that he had questioned it before, but the enormity of it was fastened to the action...to the verity of touch. Only when Sephiroth’s breathing grew ragged did he look up, only when the body he was leaning against shifted slightly did he become aware that his partner was aroused. Those beryl irises were one part embarrassment and one part terrible hunger...and he felt his own physicality warm in response...but he pushed it down.

“...Did they do an ultrasound?”

His voice came out thicker than he’d have liked, tinged with a kind of amativeness that was very different from any that had come before. The former General responded to it, a light flush dusting his cheek as he appeared to try to shove his thoughts to the side in order to respond. While he did so, the redhead let his palm glide in a slow circular path over flexed, ellipsed skin...feeling how his partner responded to the gesture as his eyes grew heavy with arousal.

“Often” was the low response. “Though Hojo was only receptive to me seeing her when he thought it could hurt me.” The mention of the mad scientist nearly took the wind out of his sails, but then the physique next to him shifted in a manner that was just a little bit on the side of suggestive and he grew distracted again. Sephiroth's tone grew almost apologetic. “I don’t think he’d have given me pictures…”

“It’s good you didn’t ask” Genesis replied, catching on immediately. When the green-eyed man’s silence was still guilty, he kissed the side of his neck. “Seph, it’s okay.”

Genesis’ former fellow FIRST gently shrugged the shoulder he was on-almost teasingly-until he lifted his head. When he did, the silver-haired man made a study of his visage in that ravenous, soul-seeking way he’d come to associate only with him. The advance of his mouth caught him off-guard a little bit because he hadn’t exactly intended to act on his biological response quite yet, but he responded willingly. The soft slide of those lips against his was a balm to his soul, and he breathed out in a quiet, shivering rush as long fingers cupped his cheek and drew him in further. The couch springs creaked as they both shifted somewhat...closer...until it felt like they could maybe melt into one another if they really tried. Sephiroth’s tongue traced his oral commissure and he tilted his head somewhat ‘till he could take it into his mouth, nipping softly-a little harder-and then sucking until the younger man’s breath hitched. A large palm dropped to his hip, digits digging in slightly before they fanned wide, crept under the hem of that horrible plaid to trace the skin underneath.

This too was familiar.

Sephiroth knew his skin like he knew the contours of Midgar’s topography; very well. And the warm slide of his touch was like the fall of water...over the banks of high cliffs, rushing downwards until he was aching in his jeans...until he threw his head back so that mouth could latch onto the underside of his throat. His partner acquiesced eagerly, found his pulse point and laved it with his tongue before closing his lips over it and drawing the flesh upwards...worrying a lover’s mark that faded as quickly as it came. Genesis arched into it, opened himself to it as his mind descended into a slow, scarlet pulsation of carnal fire. It smoldered at the edge of his lips...swept backward and down into his belly. He retreated somewhat to fumble with his shirt, and those beryl irises watched as each button gave way to more skin; checkered cotton parting until those big hands simply pushed the fabric from his shoulders and then made a study of his torso.

“I think” the scarlet-haired man murmured against desirous lips. “I want you to fuck me.” Distracted, he let his nose nuzzle the soft dip under the green-eyed ex-soldier’s Adam's apple before replacing it with his mouth. “Not today, but soon.”

There was a stretch of silence that spanned the gap between his words and the younger man’s response. While he waited he let his free hand card through endless platinum locks, following them from the back of his companion’s head to the apex of shimmering strands...hefting the weight of it in his fingers and letting it drop over his shoulder as he sought those lips again...almost frantic with his focus. Sephiroth inhaled sharply as their mouths met once more, cupped the redhead’s face in both hands and kissed him so hard he felt it down to his toes. With clumsy fingers, he reached for the fastenings to the former General’s pants-found it was more difficult to get to them than before and swore-until he was batted away so his partner could do it for him. When he wrapped his hand around the girth of an already-weeping cock both of them groaned and it seemed to tremble between them...like a solid but invisible thing in heavy space.

“I think” Sephiroth muttered. “You should wear stockings.” He paused, apparently considering. “Leather” he corrected. “Black leather garters. Something-” that powerful body shuddered. “-Something tacky and awful that shows too much skin.”

Genesis couldn’t stop the surprised yet still sensual laughter that bubbled up in his throat. It spilled over his lips and into his lover’s mouth before he could get a good reign on it. Lilted, low...a little bit questioning at the edges and the green-eyed ex-soldier's smile was a soft contour against his own before he abandoned his post to kiss his way up a proud jawline.

“Did someone hit you over the head at some point?” he teased softly even as one of those long-fingered palms unbuttoned his jeans and cupped him. _”Mmm_ , not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, of course.”

He’d meant it as a joke.

Which, in retrospect, was not tactful at all. When his companion stiffened slightly he groaned inwardly. Because of _course_ he just had to say something asshatted and flagrant. Regardless, Sephiroth rallied quickly and pinched his nipple until he winced and grimaced.

“I think I’ll stop my questions about our time apart until I come” he muttered absentmindedly. “My dick doesn’t know what to do with it.”

“Until _you_ come” Sephiroth snorted, flexing his hips slightly. Lifting his hand from the redhead’s waist, he wiggled his middle and forefinger in front of the older man’s lips. “Suck.”

Genesis did, because this at least he could work with in favor of making hard-headed and insensitive comments. And if his former fellow first was trying to shut him up...well, it was working. Acquiescing, he took the offending digits into his mouth...wrapped his tongue around them and then drew them back until he could feel the tips nudging the back of his throat. The former General’s lips parted hungrily as he did so, those viridian irises darkening as his observance fueled his arousal. When he’d satisfied his spontaneous voyeurism, the silver-haired man retrieved his fingers and then let them descend to settle around the redhead’s cock, stroking experimentally before settling into a consistent tempo. Ecstatically, the blue-eyed former Commander arched into his touch...relished the heat of a palm as a low, appreciative moan fell from his mouth.

“You think about me?” he said breathlessly, throwing his head back and bucking his hips.

“Thought we weren’t talking about this” was the cross reply as the silver-haired man nibbled at the column of his throat. There was a pause as both of them got slightly more submerged in the heat of the moment. “But, in consideration of the topic, yes.”

Genesis grinned and it was all teeth, thrust forward so his erection slid through the firm circle of grasping fingertips until he could reach that mouth and cover it with his own...the effect slightly anticlimactic with the way he was smiling but they managed it. Sephiroth’s hand twisted just-so, and it was good and wonderful and _yes_.

“Gaia” the redhead groaned, looping an arm around the younger man’s neck and breathing heavily against his cheek. “S’good Seph, you’re so good… _missed_ this.”

He could feel his companion’s somewhat smug smirk against his jawline, but it was tempered with the tenderness of his touch...with the way his hand was carding through his hair as he worked his fingers over him. A kiss was placed on his temple and it was both sweet and passionate. Shuddering, the redhead acknowledged he wasn’t going to last long...that it had been, realistically, _too_ long since he’d been touched like this...with appreciation and love.  
Brow furrowing, the former Commander gave himself to the crush of emotions in his heart, the response in his body...tilted his head and caught the tip of a tongue until he could draw it into his mouth as his face flushed, as his words petered out and instinct took over for romanticism. All the while, he was aware of how those green eyes were watching him...taking in the flex of musculature, the blush that rose to encompass his skin. Worshipfully, reverently they observed...drank him in like he was the finest of elixirs until the younger man’s breathing was as ragged as his own.

As was customary with Sephiroth, Genesis’ orgasm came upon him hard and fast. Locked in that tight-careful grip, leaking pre-come onto the threadbare fabric of the couch...he could only give himself to the inevitably of his release. His head felt almost unbearably heavy, his skin tight-hot-as the burgeoning apex of desire swelled...grew into a thick, throbbing fire. Distantly, he heard himself groan, heard Sephiroth whisper something encouraging in reply. Up...fast, rigid and solid and the pulse in his groin became a shivering exodus...radiated outwards until his thighs were trembling and he was moaning into that soft mouth as the younger man stroked him through his orgasm, as thick beads of pearlescent liquid spilled between his fingers to soak into the cushions below them. The redhead shivered, exhaled in a rush that was intermingled with a vocalized exclamation, mumbled something sloppy and gratuitous into a flushed collarbone as he dug his fingers into a shoulder blade before letting go and rolling his forehead against the firmness of his partner’s sternum.

Sephiroth was still hard, and it didn’t take him long to rise to the occasion. They kissed lazily, until the initial afterglow of the scarlet-haired man’s orgasm had faded. Then, slowly, Genesis pushed the younger man into a reclining position, made a path over a familiar torso with his lips before settling between long legs. Palming the heft of his lover’s arousal, the blue-eyed ex-first deliberated for barely a second before he let his tongue travel the length of it...lapping at the head before swirling in a circle and then plunging downwards...taking the silk of it into his mouth until he could taste him on his tongue...at the back of his throat. He had to go slow. Months of abstinence had somewhat strengthened his gag reflex. His companion’s cock wasn’t ridiculously huge but it wasn’t what anyone would call _’average’_ either, and his eyes were tearing up by the time his physiology got the hang of things again.

The angle was a little bit weird, and he supposed that it would only get more difficult the further along the younger man got...it was one of the reasons he was going to make sure he got fucked as soon as possible...because eventually, it wasn’t going to be an option anymore. He’d always had a thing for oral; as the muscles at the back of his mouth worked to accommodate the intrusion, he could feel the initial beginnings of arousal starting to coil in his belly once more. They wouldn’t go for round two tonight though, both of them were too tired to do so. Still, he couldn’t help the flush that rose to cover his cheeks, the warmth that began to pool at the base of his spine as the younger man thrust upwards involuntarily.

Those beautiful green eyes were glassy...almost distant in their distraction as long fingers tangled in his hair, as Genesis stilled to indicate his acquiescence at being settled into a rhythm. Sephiroth drove deep, slow until his jaw ached slightly from the strain but he didn’t relent. Instead, the redhead hummed...low and deep, relishing the choked gasp he earned in return as he slid his fingers behind heavy, tight testes to slid into the wet...clenching cavern beneath. At this the silver-haired man’s breath hissed through his teeth, his entire body seemed to welcome it. Hooking fore and middle digits, the redhead pressed upwards...twisted his wrist sharply and then rubbed...shivering as a ragged, lilting moan was his response.

His partner seemed nearly desperate for it, seemed to know exactly how to angle his body in order to get the most sensation from it as possible. This was quickly followed by a very specific locational demand...which had never been a facet in their lovemaking before. Sephiroth wasn’t exactly ridiculously vocal when it came to asking for what he wanted in bed; the fact that he was willing to do so was telling. With an air of slight surprise, the redhead realized that the younger man had to have been experimenting to know how to move this way...how to respond to his touch-to elucidate specific _needs_ for touch-so directly after so long apart. This-if anything-was enough to make him pull off the now achingly hard length of his companion’s cock, breathing heavily as he momentarily retrieved his hand to wipe his mouth before letting it dive downwards once more.

“Someone’s been practicing” he purred, letting his breath ghost across the underside of the silver-haired man’s arousal as he flexed against that achingly wet heat. Despite all his very manly proclivities, Sephiroth still blushed very prettily. Grinning, Genesis sucked hungrily at the apex of his twitching desire before opening his mouth once more. “What were you thinking of?” He licked teasingly over the head. “Watching my ass while you fucked me from behind...or the feel of my cock inside you while I bent you over your couch?”

Sephiroth came.

Really, he exploded. Genesis withdrew his hand, ran his tongue over the wetness between his fingers as his lover found the pinnacle of his desire in a release of ivory ribbons. Silver brows were drawn together, pearly teeth sinking into a lower lip as his former fellow first undulated back into the couch cushions. That low, velvety voice whispered his name in a soft refrain as his body grew taut. And he was now impossibly hard again...but he knew that neither of them were up for this for a second time. Even as the thought crossed his mind, the former General was sagging back into the couch cushions, his body shaking and flushed as he peeled a few rogue strands of flyaway hair from his forehead, which was sticky with sweat. They were both a rather sweaty, gross mess at the moment...and the redhead found himself thinking longingly of the bath upstairs. They hadn’t used it, and it would be so nice to just sink down into it, to relax in hot water. Regretfully, his eyes strayed to the remains of dinner.

“Leave it.”

Sephiroth’s voice was hoarse, ragged on the edges of exhaustion. Beryl irises were heavy with the need for sleep, and the former Commander acknowledged that maybe a shower was a better idea, for both of them. As he was thinking, his companion sat up to draw him close. Closing his eyes, Genesis sighed and kissed the bridge of his former comrade’s nose...smiling tenderly as it wrinkled somewhat in response.

“Thank you” he murmured. A soft, mostly unintelligible murmur and he shivered as a large hand was pressed against the small of his back. “I love you.”

It took a little time for the silver-haired man to respond. When he did, it was initially to sniff and make a face.

“This is disgusting.” A pause. “I’m hungry” he added.

Genesis grinned.

Lowering his head, he nuzzled just beneath the younger man’s chin...letting his lips stretch across the apex of his partner’s jaw.

“If you go take a shower, I think I can have a sandwich ready for you when you come back down.”

 

Those beautiful silver brows wrinkled further.

“Moving seems counterproductive.”

Genesis snorted.

“Well, if you don’t move, I suppose we can just sit here and be disgusting forever.”

A pause, and it seemed like his partner was truly considering his words. After some time, he groaned and they disentangled themselves. Running his hands through his hair, the green-eyed ex-first attempted to use his shirt to clean himself but soon gave it up as a lost cause. Groaning, he stood, pulling his pants up as he did so.

“A sandwich sounds good” he muttered, heading to the door. Once he reached the threshold, he turned back, those viridian irises gentle. “I love you too.”

Genesis smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** This chapter is pretty much fluff and smut. A smluffy chapter. BUT yeah. This was an argument I did _not_ want to last very long, because realistically, Sephiroth's logical deduction is going to be slightly more reasonable than most. Regardless, I hope this is realistic. Kind of a...breather...the calm before the storm, if you will. Though I'd love to just keep them here and have them wank each other off all day long it's counterproductive to the plot. Yup. So. Thanks for Reading. I hope it was good!
> 
>  
> 
> **R &R**


	9. Chapter 9

Peace.

The idea of it was foreign to him. Leaning on the railing of the front porch, Sephiroth watched as Genesis trudged his way from the barn. The low light from the sun attempted to weakly reflect the last vestiges of the day from wooden fence posts and dewy grass. Droplets of water clung to dark green leaves in the forest beyond, and the barn cat was making its way past the steps with a kind of weary feline nonchalance. The chocobo was-thankfully-asleep in its paddock, its crest drooping as it emitted a series of low, musical fluting noises. Most of the chickens were silent and he was grateful for it, he couldn’t really stand the sound or the sight of them...and it was a relief when they returned to the coop to roost. The gate at the far end of the homestead had been latched, but it usually was by this time, and the silver-haired man couldn’t bring himself to double-check it. It wasn’t like they got any unexpected visitors in any case. Most of the ‘traffic’ in and out of the current ‘residence’ was that of wildlife, and what little human presence they’d heard at all was several miles away...over the rise of a mountain range that shadowed their presence from the rest of civilization. 

Genesis had hiked out perhaps three days prior, had spent the majority of the morning and afternoon getting a lay of the land. Sephiroth had offered to go with him, but the reality of the situation was that someone had to keep an eye on the animals. They couldn’t afford to leave as a group unless they wanted to forgo their responsibilities for the day, and that really wasn’t an option. He would-admittedly-be sorry to go...because he knew they were unlikely to get this lucky again, but their time there was drawing to a close. His redheaded companion had returned with the news that they were perhaps forty miles South of a town he didn’t recognize; which was a little too close for comfort but not so close that anyone had noticed them. Still, neither of them were willing to risk staying somewhere for long, and getting too comfortable was just as dangerous as moving around too much. So when his former comrade announced that they would be leaving within a week, he agreed...if reluctantly. The longer they stayed the more they risked detection, and that was something neither of them were willing to bet on. Despite the fact that the homestead was relatively secluded, they were both aware that it was still registered as property on a continental scale...which meant that Shinra would eventually check it. They had what they’d christened a ‘go bag’, in case of the worst case scenario. The worst case scenario being if SOLDIER found them before they had a chance to move on...but it didn’t hurt to be careful. It was tightly packed with perhaps enough supplies and clothes to last them a month, but that was it...after that they would be forced to live off the land. 

Genesis was itching for action.

Neither of them were meant for peaceful, uneventful lives. Sephiroth would honestly have preferred being stuck behind his desk doing paperwork than feeding chickens, and the redheaded Commander was clearly bored to death with towing farm animals about day in and day out. If he was entirely honest with himself, it made him worry. Because while they might be on the cusp of parenthood...neither of them were really built for it. As much as his mentality enjoyed the picture of family life right now, he had no idea if that would last after their daughter was born. Even as a nudge inside of him indicated the life they had created was very real, and very much a part of their existence...he found his thoughts straying more and more to the future...and his thoughts were inundated with dread. Both of them needed structure; they’d been part of a company that drilled structure into their heads for so long he often didn’t know what to do with himself without it. And while he didn’t want their child to be part of that structure, a part of him still felt a virulent need to seek some sort of cause...some type of action that wouldn’t be placed on the backburner once they had another life to consider. Both of them were men that needed a certain amount of career-focused responsibility to remain sane, and while Shinra obviously wanted them dead, he still missed it. And it was very hard not to hate himself for missing the idea of being institutionalized, but he still did. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Genesis’ musical vocality washed over him, and the silver-haired man couldn’t stop the small smile that curved over his lips to answer it. This sentimentality was also new...this sense of nostalgia that was bittersweet...tinged with a kind of ache that was both beautiful and painful. Watching as the redhead ascended the porch steps, shaking hay out of riotous scarlet locks, he couldn’t help the affectionate expression that settled over his visage. The redhead hearkened to it...as he always did, blue eyes softening into some deep, placid form of tenderness before looking away as the older man kicked off his boots. Mirth rose momentarily to circumvent fondness as emerald irises caught sight of the thick woolen socks his partner was wearing. Most of his memories consisted of the former Commander wearing thin...calf-high crews...but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he shifted so he was leaning sideways on the railing; elbow propped on rough wood as the older man stepped up to him and lifted his arms...hung them over the former General’s shoulder and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. Sephiroth’s eyes dropped somewhat as he did so, as he lifted his chin to chase the gesture before pulling back and making a study of his companion’s visage. 

They were trying.

Saying that every day was easy would have been a lie. Both of them were volatile individuals with somewhat differing interests. Genesis was flamboyant and creative while he was dispassionate and often withdrawn. It was different than in HQ...so long ago...because they’d always been busy. By the time he rolled out of bed in the morning, Sephiroth often found himself pressed for time to talk with his red headed lover. They still got to know each other, but it was a stark contrast to spending all their time together in a world that was so very different from the one they were used to. In a way...it was a lot like relearning each other...a lot like understanding each other in a different manner. Genesis’ infidelity grated at him...no matter how hard he tried to dismiss it. In the quiet moments, when he had nothing else to do he found himself going over his own flaws over and over to try and figure out what was so terrible about him that the blue-eyed ex-FIRST had felt the need to seek solace somewhere else. He knew-automatically-that it was more complicated than that, that it wasn’t a product of his inadequacy, merely a poor choice that had led to horrible consequences. He also knew that Genesis hadn’t entirely been able to control himself, that he hadn’t wanted it as much as he’d simply acquiesced because he was so inhibited he didn’t know how to say no. The reality of it didn’t make it less painful, didn’t make him question himself any less. 

His resentment spilled forth in strange ways. On rainy days...when they couldn’t go outside he rose early and went to the barn to sit by himself. The older man didn’t pursue him, seemed to understand his need for distance and that was even more frustrating because he knew Genesis was sorry, he just didn’t know how to translate it over to himself. And when he came back those sapphire irises would be haunted...dark and aggrieved. It was enough to make him angry because then he’d feel guilty...and by his reckoning he had nothing to feel guilty for. Sephiroth couldn’t help his time imprisoned, couldn’t have controlled it even if he wanted to...but it didn’t stop him from blaming himself...didn’t stop him from turning to such melancholy thoughts when it was hard to turn away from them. And he wanted to forget it, because despite everything he still loved Genesis...he still wanted him. 

That wasn’t to say that they didn’t have good times.

On the days he was feeling benevolent there was nothing better than waking up to find those sleepy, ocean-colored eyes looking at him from across soft pillows. Heavy with dreams...smiling while those familiar lips weren’t smiling and he wanted to crawl into those moments and never come out. Lazy afternoons were spent curled on the sofa or sprawled out next to the fire, mouths memorizing skin until Sephiroth couldn’t tell where he began and Genesis ended. He did acquiesce to the older man’s request to be taken...and there was something slow, soft, and exceedingly intimate about watching that powerful spine bow in the throes of pleasure, observing the arch of a flushed neck as the scarlet-haired ex-SOLDIER gasped his name and rolled his forehead against the blanket that they’d spread out over the wooden floorboards. It solidified his sense of personification, of still being himself despite so much that was changing. And when slender, strong yet graceful fingers traced the swell of their child as they lay on the floor shivering through the aftershocks...flames dancing over pale skin and glittering on drying sweat it was an ache so strong it nearly brought him to tears. Curled into each other like children in the dead of night, when Genesis would wake up screaming himself hoarse from black nightmares...from the memories of his death and degradation...from the recollections of his absence and what his absence had morphed into. The universe seemed so impossibly large in those midnight moments...so massively, impossibly vast and the two of them so small.

Two lost ships in a storm. 

It was lonely, but in a sense of togetherness...alien and powerfully strange. Who they had been and who they were...who they were going to have to be. Glances and prolonged stares...exchanged words and the sound of footsteps in halls that weren’t theirs. The smell of cedar; of fresh produce and the loam that packed the dirt together in the cellar. Cold, crisp morning air like a knife in weary lungs and the sometimes startling blue of the sky above them. The way the red tail hawks circled over green mountaintops and the taste of clear...sweet well water. Dust...dirt...hay...the feel of feed beneath his fingertips and sometimes he hated his eidetic memory for making his recollections so permanently powerful. Because this felt like a dream, like they were lost in something that would eventually shatter like a mirror dashed upon the floor. ...Genesis; the timber of his voice, his profile when he stood at the kitchen window watching the rain...a dish towel slung over his shoulder. The manner in which he mumbled in his sleep, the way he smiled when he was truly sad. The feel of his lips through the fabric of his shirt when he decided he wanted to talk to their daughter, the vibration of his voice over his skin and the way she moved in response. Coffee, stale coffee he thought he could sneak in the afternoon and what did he think he was doing? Exasperated, affectionate eyes and the curve of a smile as a head of red hair shook itself in mock-consternation. The morning when he pulled a shirt over his head and discovered it didn’t fit anymore...the tightness of the fabric over his middle and the way Genesis somehow seemed to think such a ridiculous thing was the most beautiful thing in the world. 

“It seems I’m going to have to up my price.” 

Blinking, Sephiroth pulled himself from his thoughts and huffed quietly, turned his head to the side and watched as the fireflies began to rise from the grass. Genesis was patient, one hand retreated from its post over his shoulder to cup his cheek. Swallowing, the younger man opened his mouth.

“...We’re not parents, Genesis.” 

The former Commander stilled, and he felt rather than saw him consider his comment. There was a yowl as the barncat declared war on a lightning bug, and he smirked somewhat derisively. A sigh, and he refocused on his partner, watched as he looked down at the now-prominent space between them that his abdomen constantly seemed to fill. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

Affirmation. It was an affirmation of his fears, and while it didn’t assuage them, it relieved him to know that they were on the same page...that they were both as apprehensive of this as the other. Sephiroth tilted his head, lifted one hand to cup the knuckles opposite the inside of the palm on his cheek. 

“How are we going to do this?” 

Scarlet brows drew together, and the expression of frustration that crossed the older man’s features was synonymous with his own inward rankling. Because they didn’t know...hadn’t really talked about it. It was easy to push it to the side when everything about their current situation was so easy. 

“I need to get in touch with Angeal” Genesis said at length, his eyes somewhat unfocused. “But I don’t know how I’m going to do that. We’d...originally planned for a subtle takeover, to reveal the Jenova Project...to spread dissent among the men and the people until the President was willing to step down…”

“...And now?” Sephiroth pressed.

The former Commander’s expression was grim. 

“Now it’s not so easy. Not that it was easy before, but now everything’s muddled. I don’t see anything working in Shinra’s favor anymore, not in the sense of keeping the company intact. We’d have to attack outright, a lot of men would die fighting us...good men.” A somewhat bitter chuckled. “It...probably doesn’t seem to have a lot to do with us being parents. But once our daughter is born, I’m going to have to go. I have to fix this.” 

“I’m not just going to stay behind” Sephiroth countered stubbornly. When the redhead gave him a somewhat despairing look, he continued. “Genesis, I’ve killed...an...insurmountable amount of people. If you’re going to dismantle Shinra, I want to be there with you.” 

“And the baby?” the older man pressed, anxiety crinkling the edges of his eyes as he spoke. “What about her? We can’t-we can’t just abandon her Seph!” When the green-eyed former General opened his mouth, Genesis drew back and clasped his hands urgently...bringing them upwards until they were clutched to the redhead’s chest. “And you’re a wanted man; probably more wanted than me. The people-they don’t-they’ll want you dead; and I’m not saying you can’t defend yourself, but after giving birth...we don’t know what condition your body is going to be in.” He hesitated before plowing onward. “And...and what if Jenova...what if the only thing shielding you from her is...this?” A tremulous hand reached forward-hesitated-before gesticulating somewhat wildly at his stomach. “What if...when all of this has been said and done…?” 

He didn’t continue. He didn’t need to.

It was a vein of thought Sephiroth had considered; the fact that his gravidity was blocking Jenova’s direct line to his thoughts. The fact that he couldn’t hear her after he had conceived was very telling, and the idea that he might revert back into insanity after their daughter was brought into the world was not a little bit frightening. Not because of what he could do to humanity-though that was a facet of his concerns-but because of what he could do to Genesis...to their child. He was-effectively-painfully aware of the fact that his mind wasn’t entirely his own anymore...and he hated it. The silver-haired man was also concerned about Jenova potentially having a connection to their unborn child. Because everything about his connection to her screamed of a ‘hive mind’ with a distinct hierarchy. There was-of course-the possibility that he would have the ability to control his progeny...due to how biological ranking systems worked. The idea of it made him sick every time he thought about it. 

“If…” he swallowed. “If Jenova takes over once…” the younger man trailed off and shut his eyes. “Genesis, you’re going to have to kill me.” 

Genesis looked rather like Sephiroth had just punched him in the face. 

Those blue eyes widened as that beautiful mouth tugged downwards at the corners. The remaining hand clasping his became vice-like before it slipped from his grasp and fell limply at the older man’s side. Alabaster skin became almost translucent in its paleness...and for a several minutes, it seemed like the former Commander had had the world veritably yanked out from under his feet. Watching all this with a terrible ache in his chest, Sephiroth knew that he was asking the most painful thing he possibly could. But he couldn’t risk this...couldn’t risk hurting them- _either_ of them-when there was another option. And he knew-instinctively-that Jenova would have no use for his lover once their child was born. If he hurt him, he would never forgive himself...he would never be able to face himself again should his cognizance return. 

“...You can’t ask me that.” Genesis’ voice was hoarse with grief, his tonalization suffused with a thick undertone of despair. “ _Please_ don’t ask me that.” 

Licking his lips, the former General pushed the humanistic part of him-the man that was _madly_ in love with the individual before him-to the wayside in favor of logic. 

“Genesis, you know what I’m capable of...what I did when she took over. If it comes down to that, please don’t choose me over our child.” 

“It’s not that simple” the scarlet-haired man snapped. “You know it’s not that fucking simple, and don’t fucking _insult_ me by trying to insinuate it’s that simple.” 

Against his will, the younger man could feel his own ire rising...coupled with the frustration that his partner wasn’t understanding what he was saying. Because he didn’t want this, he didn’t want to die before he got a chance to experience having a family. He didn’t want to leave them behind because it was the ‘right thing to do.’ But this was needed...this was a conversation they probably should have had a long time ago that they’d both been putting off because they were too afraid to face it. Gritting his teeth, Sephiroth shook his head. 

“But it is” he said flatly. “You don’t get it...and I think it’s because you haven’t met her yet, but you will.” When Genesis made a derisive noise he exhaled angrily. “Genesis, I can’t have gone through this just to have it taken away.” 

“Yeah?” the former Commander griped. “And what about me? I waited _months_ to see you again, I pandered to Shinra like a fucking _dog_ just so I could get the opportunity to help you...to help us. And I don’t care how bloody selfless you want to be, I can’t be that selfless...I _can’t.”_

The separation between them-sudden and abrupt-was tangible. And he wanted to fall to his knees, wanted to _beg_ the man before him to understand that he couldn’t do this without him...that he couldn’t take this step into the unknown without some reassurance that there was going to be someone there to save him from himself. But there weren’t any words that could assuage what he was requesting, because no matter what, there was still the stark...empty truth that Genesis might have to be a father on his own...that he might have to look into their daughter’s eyes knowing that he had killed the person who had given birth to her. Sephiroth knew how terrible a truth that was to face...knew how _painful_ it was to acknowledge that the older man might have to face it alone. But he also knew that the former Commander was a man of logic...no matter how ridiculously passionate an exterior he might present. And he could only hope that in the end, logic won out over emotionalism. The silver-haired man could see the bitter resentment his request had borne...the sense of terrible distance. And despite the fact that he might not be a permanent facet in Genesis’ life...he still wanted to be present while he could. 

“Listen to me” he said quietly. “This isn’t easy for me to ask. I want-” Sephiroth hesitated and shook his head. “-I want to be here for you...forever. But I’m equally aware of the fact that in this world…’forever’ is a concept that you can’t bank on.”

“I won’t kill you, Sephiroth” the older man snarled. 

“Do you remember when you were degrading?” the former General pressed quietly, watched as those sapphire orbs widened yet again. “...What you asked me to do-”

“-That’s different” his companion countered. “It’s _so_ different it-”

“-Is it though?” the green-eyed ex-soldier pressed. “Is it really different? You asked me to kill you when your mind wasn’t your own...when you didn’t have any control anymore. How is that any different from what I’m asking you?”

“You didn’t do it though, did you?” Genesis hissed, stepping forward until the younger man’s stomach was the only thing stopping them from knocking foreheads. “You filthy hypocrite, how can you even ask me that when you didn’t follow through?!” 

“But you _understand_ why I’m asking it, don’t you?” Sephiroth retorted. 

“Of course I do you asshole!” his former second-in-command returned, his voice nearly rising to a shriek. “But that doesn’t make it _better_ , and it doesn’t give you a right to ask it of _me!_ I’m your _partner!_ Do you understand how fucking painful that is?! Do you understand how much this is hurting me?! Do you-” 

It was-evidently-enough to wake their daughter, because she chose at that moment to roll over and pummel the space behind Sephiroth’s navel so hard that he grunted in surprise and Genesis fell silent. They seemed to come to some breathless, unanimous decision in that moment...though neither of them really had to say anything to the other. And the younger man understood that he had no right to ask his partner something like that...that it was _cruel_ to expect something so dire from someone who loved him so much. And he’d opened his mouth to apologize when Genesis fell to his knees and put a hand to the swell between them, his face red...his lips trembling. Leaning a head of scarlet hair against Sephiroth’s bellybutton, the blue-eyed former soldier exhaled angrily, nosily. 

“I hate your father” he muttered, but there was no weight behind it. “I _hate_ him so much-!” 

And the manner in which he said it was really the opposite of hate...was filled with so much emotion that it took everything the younger man had not to sink to the decking with him. He settled with threading his fingers through fiery locks, with closing his eyes and ducking his head until threads of moonlit silk fell over both of them. 

“I’m sorry” he said hoarsely. “I shouldn’t have-”

“-No you shouldn't've” Genesis snapped, his voice slightly muffled. “But I understand why you asked.” 

There was silence between them then...an affectionate silence tinged with a kind of aching grief. Because they weren’t any closer to figuring this out than they’d been before. And there wasn’t an easy or positive avenue of pursuit...not one that didn’t have disastrous consequences anyway. Not for the first time, Sephiroth found himself cursing Shinra...for not giving them a choice in this...for never giving them a choice. For thinking that it was okay to play God and damn anyone or anything that got in their way. For forcing two men who had no experience in this particular field-men of combat...of battle and blood-to weather something blindly, helplessly because they had no other choice. And despite all of it...despite the bleakness of everything before them, he was grateful. Because Genesis could have chosen to walk away...easily. There had been nothing stopping the redhead from choosing to live his life in ignorant bliss...regaining his status in the company with compliance and servitude. Genesis would likely have taken his place as General in a few years, when Administration decided that he was trustworthy. But the former Commander hadn’t chosen that path...had chosen him. And he knew that there was really no question of what the older man would have picked in the end, but he was still desperately thankful. Because he didn’t think he’d have made it this far alone.

He knew he wouldn’t have.

“Maybe we should start with Angeal” he said slowly, tentatively. 

Blue eyes rose to meet his, suffused with a quiet kind of tenderness...with an affection that was so deep it was almost weary. Cerise lips parted to deliver a reply…

...And a gunshot rang out over the peaceful serenity of the farmstead. 

It took Sephiroth a moment to register it...to recognize what it was and that it was real. It had been a long time since he’d heard something like it...a long time since he’d engaged in active combat. It took him a while more to register that his partner had gone very still, that his face was colorless and that there was a dark red stain spreading from just below his shoulder...seeping through the blue shirt he was wearing to suffuse the fabric in a pool of rubicund. When he did, he panicked...inwardly. Because Genesis had-effectively-just been shot directly in front of him...and if he’d been standing anywhere else...it would have been their child and not him. Pearlescent teeth sank into a lower lip as the redhead made a low sound of pain; as he attempted to get up...staggered slightly before managing it. For a split second, they stared at each other in complete and utter horror...emerald irises latched to blue before they both sprung into action at once. 

They didn’t have a lot of time. 

Effectively, they had no time. Because the sound of an innumerable amount of booted feet pounding in the dust was growing closer by the second. Sephiroth’s brain switched to autopilot, to his training on instinct, forced him to act through his psychical hysteria as his feet carried him forward. Crashing through the front door with his former comrade at his heels, he snagged the go bag with the few things they had picked out and flung it over his shoulder as his partner struggled to lift the rifle mounted above the fireplace. Blood trailed from the foyer to the living room and the silver-haired man tried not to concentrate it. The professional part of him whispered that the wound wasn’t fatal, not yet anyway...that it wouldn’t be unless the older man moved too much and that was fast becoming a necessity. Shoving a kaszkiet cap over his head, the green-eyed ex-first snagged the first coat he laid eyes on-feeling somewhat indignant when he realized it wasn’t going to zip over his stomach-before snatching one up that would fit significantly better. 

They’d made it to the backyard by the time their adversaries came into view. There was, veritably, a lot of them. Genesis shouted something ridiculous about Sephiroth getting the chocobo before he attempted to lift the rifle only to have it slide through bloody fingers. Wresting the weapon from his grasp, Sephiroth barked a sharp order at his partner-one that he later couldn’t recall the contents of-and the look he received in return was incredulous but he didn’t have time to think about it because they were forced to duck to avoid a hail of gunfire. Obviously, Shinra didn’t have any qualms about killing either of them now. When it was somewhat clear enough for both of them to get back up, it became evident that Genesis couldn’t. Gritting his teeth and wondering if he was going entirely insane, Sephiroth rose and sprinted towards the paddock holding the feathered, yellow monstrosity with a feeling of seething indignation. A yelp from behind along with a chorus of _‘stay down!_ ’s told him his lover had likely been captured but that was easily ameliorable. The chocobo gave him a disdainful look upon his wild-eyed, disheveled entry, but such derision quickly melted into apprehension as he stormed forward and grabbed it by the crest, pulling until it squawked. Because he did not have time to be nice. 

“Listen to me” he growled. “The reason your owners are dead is out there, right now.” Beady, intelligent eyes fixed him with a considering expression even as Genesis’ yells of rage became more distant. “We’re trying to survive, but if you want the chance to get revenge...it’s now or never.” 

He didn’t have to ask twice.

Getting on top of a chocobo was a lot harder than he remembered it being, but he managed. With a lot of swearing and growling and general discomfort...the former General was seated atop his sun-colored, avian steed wondering if this was possibly the most ridiculous thing he had ever done or would ever do. His mount-thankfully-didn’t give him the opportunity to think about it...preferring to give a shrill cry before bursting out of the paddock at a speed he’d never known its species was capable of. There was a startled duo of shouts-presumably from the two SOLDIERs he quickly left behind at the door to the paddock-before there was the retort of an automatic and the sense of several small somethings whizzing past him at an uncomfortably close proximity. Thankfully, there was a loud squeal and a series of horrified yells and he grudgingly thanked whatever Fates might exist that Drac was at least good for something.

Rising slightly, the silver-haired man let his shins, knees, and the base of his thighs hug the animal beneath him as he balanced himself and swung the rifle up in the direction of the retreating group of men dragging his partner towards the Southernmost edge of the property. There were other SOLDIERs around him, but they seemed-frankly-too gobsmacked to do anything useful at the moment. Finagling his aim was harder; because the gait of a chocobo wasn’t anything like the gait of a horse, but he managed anyway. Descending upon the throng of men intent on capturing his redheaded companion in a cloud of dust, he put a bullet clean through the first SOLDIER that came within reasonable distance. It was-he acknowledged with a feeling of macabre smugness-a clean headshot. Whoever-it-might-have-been’s brains were neatly splattered across the lawn and he took a kind of savage satisfaction in dispatching the next two men in the same clean, orderly manner. 

It was difficult, because he had to stop to reload-which realistically took him about three seconds-but he was, apparently, the right person for the job. The moment the troops realized they were being pursued by the armed Demon of Wutai riding a large bird, they seemed to experience an entire sixty seconds of incredulous disbelief. Even Genesis appeared to have a moment of complete and utter shock as the green-eyed man got too close to be reasonably comfortable with shooting anything and swung the rifle in a circle above his head before bringing it down on a cadet’s helmet. The man in question dropped like a stone and Sephiroth yanked his former fellow FIRST up by the collar until he realized what he was trying to do and scrambled up behind him so he could cling speechlessly to the back of his coat. The chocobo-apparently-was quite happy to take over where he had left off, lashing out with large, orange talons at a foolish recruit who dared to lunge at it. From there they kept going, didn’t look back as they plowed through the treeline into the forest.

“What the fuck” Genesis gasped, apparently finding his voice.

“You’re welcome” Sephiroth growled, taking a rather wide shot at a marksman that had apparently thought it was a good idea to hang back. He was then forced to duck to avoid a low-hanging tree branch. “Any ideas on where we’re headed?”

“You’re _glorious_!” his companion exclaimed stupidly.

“Thats-” the silver-haired man was forced to give up conversation in favor of evasion as their pursuers released another hail of gunfire. _“-Not helpful.”_

Thankfully, it seemed like they were gaining ground. Despite his overall dislike for animals in general, he was sincerely grateful that chocobos were fast. Since his former second-in-command was apparently too busy being utterly thrilled with him, Sephiroth opted for Northeast...away from civilization. It wasn’t an easy ride...not for him anyway; and by the time they’d been going for perhaps half an hour his legs were starting to ache and he was beginning to feel somewhat nauseous. The exhilaration of the moment had worn off, and he was now painfully aware of the fact that they were traveling through the wilderness with nothing but a duffel bag filled with a little bit of food, some clothes, several bottles of water and a medkit. Still, stopping wasn’t an option either, and by the time he was even remotely comfortable with slowing their pace to a trot night had fallen. 

They were at the base of a mountain range he didn’t recognize, and he wondered despairingly if they were going to be able to get any sleep. Genesis chose that moment to fall off the chocobo’s back with a low groan of pain and the decision to stop was made for him. First and foremost, he had to take care of the older man’s wound...had to get the bullet out and bandage it. Following his lover to the forest floor, he lifted the duffel bag over his head-ignoring the tell-tale twinge that was usually a pre-herald to contractions-before unzipping it and fumbling blindly inside of it. A long-fingered hand caught his wrist and he paused, irritated that his focus was broken but looking to the side to catch sapphire blue eyes with his own. Genesis was pale and sweating, but the smile that broke over his face was adoring and Sephiroth sincerely wanted to punch him. Because this was _not_ the time to be getting sentimental. 

“That was...incredible” he said hoarsely, a thin undertone of amusement coloring his tone. When the silver-haired man didn’t answer-preferring to return his attention to the bag in order to fetch some gauze and antiseptic-the hand at his pulse-point jiggled his wrist slightly. “I’ll be fine, Seph.” 

“You were shot” the former General said flatly, swatting the offending palm away. “Lean back, this is going to hurt.” 

“I don’t particularly care” the redhead remarked, the comment ending on a wheeze as Sephiroth jerked his shirt up. “And Seph...if you leave me behind to pull a stunt like that again, I might just kill you.” 

There was the stark truth that they were now in a rather desperate situation, but it somewhat paled in the face of their miraculous escape. And the silver-haired man wanted to say something clever...maybe even something comforting. As glazed, cerulean irises gazed into his...shot through with pain and a kind of terrible apprehension that was akin to his own...he couldn’t. This was bad, very bad, and they both knew it. How Shinra had located them so fast wasn’t hard to figure; they were searching hard...fiercely. For the fastest, most fleeting breath he had forgotten that they were the world's most wanted criminals...that no place they decided to go was truly safe. Carelessly, he’d put his watchfulness to the wayside because he wanted peace. Peace was a foreign concept to him...to both of them. Not because it was something neither of them wanted, or because it was something that didn’t exist for others...no. Peace was a foreign concept to them because they could never have it...and telling themselves otherwise was a virulent, monstrous lie. Swallowing, Sephiroth bowed his head over Genesis’ wound so he couldn’t see the downturn of his lips, opening his mouth as he did so.

“...Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That happened.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> **R &R**


	10. Chapter 10

They let the chocobo go because it was loud.

Watching as that yellow, feathered crest disappeared over a forested ridge, Genesis told himself the twinge he felt in his chest was that of sincere relief. The bright, fluffy monstrosity was finally gone from their lives and good riddance to it. And so what if it had managed to possibly save their lives? It wasn’t like they hadn’t provided for its livelihood in return...like the hadn’t slaved over its angry, avian self while it watched with beady, evil eyes. To be fair, Sephiroth never seemed to have the issues with their puffy protege that he did, but Sephiroth was squarely terrifying so comparison was impossible. Even the Commander knew better than to shriek at the former General for longer than an hour, and that was pushing his luck. No, he concluded, the chocobo had refrained from terrorizing his partner because it had a sincere and entirely justified desire to keep all of its limbs. Which-realistically-would have been understandable of anyone, but he wasn’t willing to be sentimental about it so he chalked it up as survivalism and concluded he would probably sleep better for doing so.

And you couldn’t have something so large and yellow following you around when you were a wanted fugitive. It was practically like painting a sun-colored target on your back and dancing naked in the middle of an empty field with an off-tune flute. An awful flute. On their second night of sleeping rough, Genesis had nearly gotten up and blown the animal’s head off for snoring in B flat. By his logic, if you were going to be a bird, you might as well be able to sing in key. When he complained to Sephiroth about it, the younger man had looked at him with shadowed, exhausted eyes and suggested they ditch their feathered friend. He knew-realistically-that his companion was not up for any sort of bullshit...so despite the fact that a tiny, disgusting part of him rebelled at the idea, he agreed. And even though the chocobo looked wounded at the idea of abandonment, it seemed to understand. It nudged each of them under the chin and then took off in the direction of what the redhead hoped was a human settlement. Because it was getting too damn cold for it to be charging around in the wilderness. He told himself that the small kindness they’d been shown at the culmination of their arrangement was nothing more than base appreciation.

It didn’t make him feel any better.

When the last sounds of the chocobo’s retreat had died down, Sephiroth huffed and sat back down on the blanket they’d been sharing for the past forty eight hours. Genesis glanced down and felt the coagulation of melancholy, guilt, and desperation ball up tight in his gut until they were twisted together like a sphere of mental panic. They were-by his reckoning-at least thirty miles further North than they’d been while staying at the cottage. This put them somewhere between Dashing Chocobo and Icicle Inn. It was still summer-late summer-but the weather would grow steadily colder the further they headed in their current direction. He wasn’t familiar enough with the topography to safely say whether they would find someplace to stay any time soon. Truthfully, he was uncomfortable with the idea of killing someone-or several someones-again in order to gain some form of safety...for however short a time. Shinra knew their game now, would expect them to try it again, had likely taken their actions and made them into a public spectacle so the population would be on their guard. No...they would have to find something abandoned...or try to find allies...though how the fuck that was going to happen he didn’t know.  
Watching as the younger man leaned back with a slight grimace on his face...Genesis forced the hysteria that rose with it to the wayside.

Sephiroth couldn’t fly anymore.

It wasn’t so much something they’d discussed as it was something acknowledged. If a ride on a chocobo was enough to cause him discomfort, there was no way he was going to last more than a few minutes in midair, and the scarlet-haired man wasn’t willing to risk trying. He could occasionally be somewhat oblivious...but the blue-eyed ex-soldier wasn't stupid, nor was he blind. As hard as the former General had tried to hide it, he knew his companion had suffered from the extremity of their escape, and the manner in which he'd been forced to utilize it. Listening to Sephiroth breathe raggedly through contractions the first night was agonizing. Staring into the blackness of the forest, tensing when his lover stiffened, his breath hissing through his teeth, the older man wanted to curse himself. For getting injured, for not being able to help, for _not comforting_ the individual lying next to him. At the same time, he knew reaching out would be an unwelcome thing...because Sephiroth was fiercely protective of his independence and he'd had so little of it on his life already.

Genesis still felt guilty.

He knew-realistically-that there was nothing he could have done. The men had gone for him first because he was-for now-the greater threat. Sephiroth wasn't as physically articulate as he used to be, and despite the fact that he'd made up for that by riding a chocobo into battle with a shotgun, it still didn't change the reality of their situation. Because Genesis was-effectively-far more dangerous than the silver-haired man was at this point. Glancing at his lover again, the redhead felt some of the anxiety suffusing him melt into warm affection tinged with worry. Their time at the cottage-however brief-had done him some good. Sephiroth looked physically healthier, less borderline-starving and his color had significantly improved. Not that he hadn't been stupidly attractive even in a state of emaciation, but it was still relieving to acknowledge that he wasn't suffering the ill-effects of his incarceration anymore. The baby seemed to have taken to their improved quality of life as well; the curve of the former General's stomach was somewhat heavier, more pronounced. And while his partner didn't seem to particularly relish the reality that he couldn't flatteringly-in Sephiroth's opinion-fit in a tight T-shirt anymore, Genesis was quietly relieved. Because it meant he was at least doing something right.

A rustle in a bush to their left had the former Commander tensing until a squirrel leapt out of it and then darted away. They were still following the same ridge they'd practically hurtled into during their escape, and while he was loathe to rely on what was likely a major landmark, he was even more reticent about not following anything at all. They'd gotten lucky enough to find a cave on their first night. Sephiroth had been forced to do a lot of the work due to Genesis’ injury, and the younger man had even suggested they stay there for a few days, but in the end they decided against it. It was too close to the farm, and they needed to keep moving. The redhead had spent much of the late hours gnashing his teeth as the mako in his system repaired the wound and stitched together new dermis, his lover suffering silently at his side. Regeneratively, he was fine, but it was hard to shake off the worry that he might start degrading again. It was the first significant wound he had received since he’d been cured, and that black sort of apprehension followed him until the evidence of the bullet’s passage disappeared entirely. His shoulder and arm were still stiff, but they weren't excruciatingly painful and that was all he could really ask for.

The second night in-the night before their current day-they’d been forced to take shelter under an outcropping of rock. Surrounded on all sides by laurel and monrovia, it had decent cover, but it wasn’t entirely enough to keep out the rain that had driven them there in the first place. Such atmospheric occurrences would become more frequent as they made their way into autumn, and Genesis tried to focus on their destination and not the climate. This was difficult, because technically, they didn’t have a set destination. There was also the glaring reality that the baby was going to be a winter baby...sometime in very late January to mid-February...neither of them knew the exact due date. The fact that they’d be bringing a child into the world during the coldest months of the year was something that he’d never expected to concern him...but it did. Because if they were on the run he couldn’t bear to think of carrying a newborn through drifts of snow and icy wind gusts. It was why Wutai was a more attractive-but ultimately unrealistic-choice; because there were areas on the continent where the temperature never dropped below seventy.

If they were looking for eternal sunshine and weren’t wanted fugitives, Costa del Sol would have been the most logical destination. Genesis wasn’t exactly partial to tourist hotspots and Sephiroth hated the place with a passion that bordered on manic ferocity so it had never been something they discussed. There was-of course-the fact that the minute they got recognized there was a good chance they’d be mobbed and subsequently arrested, so the seaside resort wasn’t an option whatsoever. And so they were stuck where they were. Moving his gaze upwards, looking despairingly at towering pines and green, forested shadows…the redhead acknowledged that it was beautiful in a way that Northern forests simply were. There was a sense of aged watchfulness...a kind of aching nostalgia that carried the weight of winters gone. And he liked snow...liked the silence of it, the glittering melancholy of the moon hitting tufty drifts like starlight on countless diamonds...liked evergreen shadows and the smell of pitch. Even in Banora he’d been drawn to the woods...caught helpless in the way sunbeams filtered through the looping alabaster shadows of the trees to spill like dappled magic over dusty soil.

Here, now, it was different; because they had too much to worry about...too much to consider. Sephiroth moved to get up and Genesis hastened automatically to help him, stopping only when he got an irritated sort of glare before resuming his contemplative post. It had occurred to him only recently that his partner rarely seemed to acknowledge his condition. He knew that it had to be difficult, that there must be something frightening about growing another life inside you. They discussed the baby, and there was definite affection in the younger man’s voice; but there was also a distinct sense of separation...as if what was going on was something the former General was watching from outside of himself...like a silent film. He never saw the silver-haired ex-soldier touch the swell of their child, not unless he was touching it first and even then it was a fleeting thing. He didn’t know much about pregnancy, but his memories of observing it in the general populace were inundated with recollections of how women would cradle that which they had created...sometimes even absentmindedly.

Out shopping, eating, really doing anything there was always that habitual action of acknowledgement...of touch…and Sephiroth had none of it. And maybe it was because his companion wasn’t unduly affectionate in the first place, but he couldn’t help being concerned about it. He knew his lover loved their child, but he didn’t know how much of this was a beautiful thing versus how much of it was traumatic. And Genesis was aware that no matter how much he could provide in terms of making it a good thing, there was the stark truth that Hojo had molded this into something damaging from the minute his partner had conceived.

He didn’t know how to change that.

There was also the singular fact that both of them were mentally compromised individuals. In a different world, they’d probably have needed therapy. Genesis didn’t know what dying had done to his psyche, didn’t know the far-reaching consequences of accepting death and then having it ripped away from him. And he didn’t resent his second chance at life, but there was always the niggling sensation that this wasn’t real...that he was going to eventually realize that he was living in some sort of weird afterlife. His own narrowly-avoided demise aside, they’d both seen more combat than the entirety of SOLDIER put together. Neither of them really suffered ill-effects from it, but Angeal’s words about it catching up with them eventually niggled at him. He didn’t like killing-he wasn’t a sociopath-but it didn’t really bother him either. The former Commander wasn’t a psychologist, but he was fairly sure that there was something screwy there. This was all disregarding the glaring reality that Sephiroth had been horrifically, heinously abused throughout the entirety of his childhood and it never seemed to bother him. Genesis was absolutely certain that it was one-hundred percent why he was so reserved and withdrawn, and he was also certain that Jenova had and would exploit that trauma should their connection be reestablished.

Watching as the younger man moved about their makeshift encampment gathering up their things, he grimly acknowledged that his request for death wasn’t exactly unconscionable. Because Sephiroth had never known anything but control, and he didn’t want to be controlled anymore. As angry and hurt as he was about the query, he understood it, because death was preferable to enslavement. There were times when he forgot that his partner wasn’t entirely human; that his biology was hardwired differently and that his mentality was going to be different no matter how much he told himself otherwise. In terms of foresight, he could see the logic behind it, even if it made him furious. That wasn’t to say that he was going to do it, but he could comprehend it because he knew what it felt like to be without control...to acknowledge that your identity was tethered to something that was more powerful than you were and that there was little to nothing you could do about it.

“Are you ready to go?”

Shaking himself from his-frankly-long winded and spiraling thoughts, Genesis huffed and raised a scarlet brow at his companion. Sephiroth was crouched next to the duffel bag eating out of a bag of dried fruit, but his stance was distinctly impatient. Glancing at the sun, the redhead estimated that it was about 0940; well past the time when he’d have ideally wanted to leave but still enough time to cover a decent amount of ground during the day.

“Yeah” he replied idly, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he crossed the space between them and bent to pick up the bag. His companion stood with the gesture and he tried to ignore the dark shadows under those beautiful green eyes with little to no success. “Might as well get going before it rains again.”

The younger man glanced at the sky and a brief expression of irritation crossed over his visage. The emotional sympathy that accosted him was a weary sort of wordless camaraderie. It was a grey and overcast day, and the clouds we're heavy with unshed moisture. It would inevitably rain, and while they had their jackets, nothing was going to keep it out permanently. By the time they'd emerged from the outcropping, it was drizzling. Sephiroth sent him a pointed glare and Genesis resisted the urge to kick the younger man in the shins. Because it wasn't like _he_ could control the weather, but he'd learned at this point that pregnancy made his companion automatically search for a target for his woes without really thinking everything through. Instead, he leaned forward to kiss the bow of those frowning lips. As was also typical, the silver-haired ex-soldier quickly roused and then was quickly sexually distracted and they were forced to delay again so Genesis could sink to his knees and get him off. By the time they were on their way he himself was feeling rather grumpy but he shoved it down with a sort of savage feeling of self-preservation.

Everything was weird.

Toeing a mossy rock with his boot he levered it up from its soily home and watched it fly with a distinct sense of satisfaction. It was weird to be the mature one more than he usually was, weird to step into adultish shoes he didn't always want to fill. Sephiroth passed him a water bottle and he took it with a wordless murmur of gratitude. Fits of moodiness and horniness aside, it wasn't like he resented this more open side of his partner. He knew a lot of it was because the green-eyed man was inundated with hormones but it was sometimes a blessing to be able to discern the former General's emotions without feeling like he was pulling teeth. Genesis always acknowledged that however forthcoming the younger man was, it was temporary...and he was okay with that. He was quickly discovering he could love several facets of the silver-haired man’s personality at once; and he wasn’t entirely sure when he’d become so open-minded in terms of emotional growth, but he wasn’t going to complain about it either.

“Heads up ”

Genesis blinked.

It was late afternoon and they’d come out of the end of the ridge. It had abruptly stopped, turned into a steep downward slope that dropped off next to a large lake. On the far side there were the tell-tale signs of some type of human settlement. Thin plumes of smoke rose from low-lying metal capsules that he recognized as eco-pods. The structures had been issued maybe ten years ago, for nomadic sects of the population protected by government statutes. That was a nice way of saying they charged migrant workers exorbitant fees to maintain their lifestyles in electronic tin cans. By his knowledge, most of the trade routes didn't run this way; it was too far off the beaten path for trade and too mountainous for livestock, which meant this was likely a permanent settlement that had abandoned the life of the wanderer for something more steadfast. His suspicions were further confirmed as they got closer, as his eyes ran over the license dates on the pods and their obvious state of long-lasting immobility. This was made evident in flat tires and deep-scored ruts in the soil. It was-of course-illegal to homestead without government permission, which explained why it was so far off-grid.

“Tango Mike” he said dryly, stopping and slinging the pack over his shoulder to the ground. Sephiroth gave him a dour look and watched as he dug the wig he'd knicked from Outfitting from its depths and slung it over his head. Taking his cue, the younger man began to systematically twist his hair into a tight coil before tucking it under his cap. There was nothing to do with their eyes and Genesis looked nervously at his partner's middle but he supposed that there was nothing for that either. He relaxed somewhat when the former General pulled his shirt and jacket about in a way that was more concealing but not by much. Jerking his chin at the settlement, the redhead continued. “Reckon we can get away with it?”

Green eyes narrowed.

“Possibly” was the deadpan response. “Is it worth it?”

Their gazes locked and there were a million unspoken realities behind them. The fact that they would have to kill and dispose of every living soul in the settlement should things go South, the truth that neither of them were in peak shape in terms of combat, and the disheartening verity that soon both of them would be too tired to continue on regardless. Trying to not let the grim resignation that settled over his psyche show on his face, the former Commander resituated the duffel and straightened.

“Maybe they'll have a radio” he muttered. The minute the words left his lips Sephiroth looked at him like he'd lost half his confidence in him in terms of brain cells and he flushed. Because if they had a radio they were willingly fucking themselves. “Fine” he snapped. “A decent bath.”

The younger man's lip twitched and beryl irises softened. Some of Genesis’ crankiness vanished as the silver-haired ex-soldier pulled him in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He fought against it out of a habitual obligation to being an asshole but eventually gave up and allowed himself to be briefly snuggled because it was nice. Pressing his lips to his lover’s cheek, he drew away before it became something more heated, smiling crookedly.

“I like camping with you, by the way” he said cheerfully, smacking the rim of Sephiroth's cap, his mouth widening into a grin as the green-eyed ex-first scowled with very little weight.

“I gathered that from the first time” was the velvety response as the younger man resituated his headgear, an answering smile tugging at his lips. Genesis tried not to let his sincere pleasure become too apparent as his partner cupped the swell at his middle just under his belly button, fingers tightening as he grimaced from what the redhead assumed was a kick. “Unfortunately, I can't say it's quite as comfortable now” he muttered. It didn't last long; apparently catching himself, the silver-haired ex-soldier reverted his focus to smoothing down the hem of his shirt. When he caught the blue-eyed former Commander eyeing him, he flushed. “She’s like you” he said by way of explanation, raising an entirely-unconvincing brow. “She can't get on my nerves yet so she gets on my bladder.”

Genesis tried and failed to suppress the snort that rocketed out of his nostrils in response. When his partner continued to look somewhat self-conscious, he took his hand.

“C’mon” he said affectionately. “If we have to kill someone today I want to get it done before dinner.”

As it turned out, neither of them needed to do any killing. Mostly because no one appeared to recognize them. They were greeted at the entryway to the fleet of pods by a gaggle of six children who promptly inundated them with enough questions it was impossible to answer one before they came up with another. They were swiftly followed by a very harried looking woman who greeted them kindly if a bit hysterically as three of the children promptly retreated to hang off of her skirts. It was obvious most of them weren't hers; she couldn't have been more than twenty, but was apparently the designated community nanny. She introduced herself as Yevere and led them inwards somewhat to a makeshift well where other people were coming and going. Genesis counted about thirty pods in all, some of them conjoined; assumably for larger families. The overall atmosphere was quiet but cheerful, and most of the faces they saw were curious but friendly.

Despite the fact that the capsules ran on electricity, it seemed that whatever mechanisms kept them running had been dismantled for parts several years before. There were lanterns lining makeshift pathways between dwellings and several large fire pits scattered here and there. It reminded him a little bit of Bone Village, but with less tech and more overall sanity. Yevere handed them over to an elderly woman named Mati who sat them down in front of her house and proceeded to throw so much food at them Genesis wasn't entirely sure he was going to be able to walk once they'd finished. They were then joined by an older man whom he assumed was her husband. He introduced himself as Athir and offered them a place to sleep before pulling out a pipe that produced so much smoke Sephiroth went green and had to walk away. It was-thankfully-their disguises-or in Sephiroth's case, his lack of visible hair-that was their saving grace. Athir informed them that the radio was constantly blaring out warnings for 'the fugitives.’

“Interrupts my programs” he muttered through his thick mustache as Mati offered him more food. “If you ask me, the whole situation’s corkscrewed.”

Trying to choke down his dessert without being spectacularly sick, the redhead raised a scarlet brow.

“Mph?”

“That General” the old man continued nodding sagely. “Seffy-rith” the former Commander practically swallowed his tongue, eyes widening in barely contained mirth. “Commands his troops flawlessly for over a decade and then just loses his mind?” A deep scoff. “I don't believe it. Shinra's always been corrupt, makes sense they'd treat their men just as badly as they treat the people. Who knows what they did to him first. S’why we’re out here” a wave of a large hand at the general area around them. “No oppression here, eh? No, I'd say let them be. Enough’s enough. SOLDIER gets their boys so young it's a miracle half of them don't go sideways. Can't imagine what it's like to train to be a murderer and then train a bunch of kids to be murderers.”

“Not many people would agree with you” Genesis replied, setting down his plate.

“Oh they would” Athir said darkly. “But they're scared to.”

The younger man had opened his mouth to reply when Sephiroth came hurrying back, quickly followed by Mati who was giving him motherly looks.

“Darling” she directed at her husband. “Let's let these two get comfortable. The guest pod is just there” she added, nodding to the right. “I'm sure you've had a long journey and you're very tired.” A pointed look was shot at the former General who proceeded to turn so red Genesis’ hair might have had a run for its money. “We'll introduce you to the others in the morning.”

Athir looked surprised but acceded to his wife's request and rose, bidding them a good night before trudging indoors. The door shut quietly and they were left in a kind of stymied silence. After a few moments, the redhead cleared his throat.

“What ..” he said slowly. “Was _that?_ ”

Sephiroth wouldn't meet his eyes, preferring to stare across the dirt packed causeway to another capsule. Genesis was beginning to resign himself to having to nag the younger man to get the truth out of him when he spoke.

“It seems” he said stiffly. “That Mati has mistaken me as your wife.”

Genesis blinked.

“You are the tallest, most deep-voiced and flat-chested wife I could ever have the privilege of marrying” he exclaimed incredulously.

“She appears to be under the impression I am wearing a binder” was the deadpan reply. “ _'For my own safety’_. I have been informed that I don't need to pitch my voice so low in good company and that I should eat more because I'm going to struggle enough giving birth with my lack of _'child-bearing hips.’_ ”

He tried not to laugh, he tried _so hard._

But the indignance on that normally stoic face, the set of that jaw...the way he was wrapping his arms around himself...it was impossible. And when he started he couldn't stop, couldn't help the mirth that spilled from his lips. Genesis laughed for a solid five minutes before he was able to sober even slightly. It was a mixture of anxiety, apprehension and a kind of delicate joy. Sephiroth was scowling and he rose hastily, still chortling quietly, before crossing the space between them to nudge their foreheads together.

“You” he breathed, grinning widely. “Are the most beautiful wife a man could ever ask for.” Cupping a smooth cheek, he kissed lowered lids. “Seph, at least we might be okay here, for a little bit anyway.”

And despite the fact that he was clearly still discomfited, Sephiroth smiled and leaned forward to receive his lips. The gesture was tentative at first, but quickly turned into something deep and heady. When they drew back out of mutual need for oxygen, those green eyes were burning.

“Only a lunatic would marry you” he muttered hoarsely.

Genesis chuckled against warm lips.

“Well” he murmured. “Looks like I chose wisely.”

Sephiroth's grin was tenuous; a little fierce, somewhat unhinged and very lustful...but it was still his. And when pale fingers clasped his to lead them back to their pod, he allowed it...because they were in this together.

There really wasn't anything else they could do but face it as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> **R &R**


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author got distracted (again) and wrote a pwp chapter (again).

Sephiroth woke to Genesis’ fingers trailing up his erection. 

Blinking sleep out of his eyes, the silver-haired man let his gaze rise to the slightly domed metal ceiling above them and swallowed a groan. A hot mouth was sucking on his pulse-point, and his hips twitched somewhat of their own accord; pushing him backwards against the flannel-swathed hard-on nestled against his backside. Overall, their accommodations were comfortable, but a little bit crowded. The amenities were rustic, mostly wooden; much like a camper but pod-shaped and without electricity. The bed was at the rear and took up the entirety of the separate space; crisp white sheets, a checkered quilt, fluffy pillows and a down comforter that was much more comfortable than the ground they’d slept on for the past few days. Sephiroth had fallen almost immediately to sleep after pulling off his boots, coat, and jeans. This was more than likely done to the great chagrin of his aroused partner...who had gone to take a ‘quick shower’ and then come back to find his companion snoring across the coverlet. Sephiroth had barely cracked an eyelid when the mattress dipped and the older man snaked an arm around him as he stretched along the length of his back. 

“I know you’re awake.” 

Genesis’ voice was still thick with early morning wakefulness, his breath warm against his ear as those dexterous fingers formed a loose circle around his need. Sephiroth exhaled, closed his eyes, and rolled his hips somewhat against the steadily burgeoning heat at his back before stilling. He didn't respond, not because he didn't care, but because it wasn't needed. They rarely had moments like this. On the farm, one or both of them were up too early to really be able to appreciate the sleepy somnolence of waking late, and at HQ both of them were often working before the sun came up. He could count on one of his hands the times they had spent slowly returning to the waking world without care, with the heavy sprawl of limbs and the fuzzy, gentle pull of the presence of the other. Genesis’ hand tightened somewhat, became less idle and more purposeful before abandoning its post and sliding hungrily downwards before apparently thinking better of it. Retreating, a calloused palm traversed the now somewhat less-prominent curve of his hip before pushing somewhat until Sephiroth rolled onto his back. 

Lazy sapphire eyes blinked into his, the alabaster skin of those high cheekbones catching the light as scarlet hair spilled over the dusky curve of a pale pink earlobe. Genesis was tranquil as he rarely saw him...the lust in his eyes tempered by a kind of patient observance. The dangle of his earring over a pale shoulder as the scarlet-haired man tilted his head was an erotic thing...the bow of his lips full and inviting. Levering himself up on an elbow, Sephiroth let himself mouth over the aforementioned temptations...barely more than a whisper as the slope of that mouth curved into a smile at his teasing, as the older man reciprocated before drawing him in for a lazy, slow kiss... breathing in deep through his nose. The younger man hearkened to the tongue that slid into the wet cavern between his lips; curled and rubbed over the roof of his mouth until he couldn't help the.shiver that ran through him. And their exchange was a heavy thing, wrought in a gradual smolder that grew steadily until he was so hungry he was flushed.

The fingers roaming his body didn't help; they snuck under his nightshirt to drag up the swollen curve of his stomach so they could pinch sensitive nipples, flicking once they found purchase as he cradled crimson locks, as he opened himself to the kiss with lowered lids. And Sephiroth was aware that the response of his physicality was changing; that there were new erogenous zones on his body that neither of them were familiar with. There were times when he was self conscious about it, when he was worried about so much change in a world that was so habitually tumultuous. And he knew that pregnancy was a 'transformation” of sorts; but he had had enough of that sort of thing with his wing...with Jenova. He hadn't-they hadn't-asked for this but it was what they had been given and now they had to cope. 

When a hot palm snaked downwards-under the hem of his pants and by his erection-he shuddered as it cupped him; as Genesis pushed gently against his sex until he pushed back to seek that spine-melting heat. The former General exhaled shakily, rutted slowly into the movement as a low throb at his core had his thoughts spiraling; those blazing sapphire eyes drank in his reaction covetously. Kicking off his flannels Sephiroth spread his legs, ground against welcome dermis until they were forced to pause. His condition prevented him from being on his back too long without feeling like he was gradually losing the ability to breathe. Genesis was aware of this, and it was with very little resistance that he turned. Drawing one leg up and then the other as he knelt, the younger man pillowed his head on his arms against the coverlet. His redheaded companion moved behind him, palmed his ass before digging his fingers in slightly just to watch him jerk. His partner's unoccupied hand swept covetously down his side before pausing, and the former General flushed as the sense of avid observance became apparent. Genesis liked to look, it wasn't a secret between them, but with him essentially presenting himself, there was a level of vulnerability to it that was a little hard to ignore. 

When a warm, wet tongue swiped between the folds of his arousal he jerked again...felt his breathing become ragged as the redhead paused to give him time to refuse before that adroit appendage returned to flick quickly-repetitively-each pass like an electric shock in his groin before the action became a deep plunge. Sephiroth groaned involuntary, bit his lip to keep the sounds from spilling out and focused on the hard clench of his sex...rocked his hips until large, long-fingered hands rose to hold him in place as that mouth descended on him like he was a banquet. And he wasn't exactly one hundred percent comfortable with this yet...with his difference but Genesis wasn't possessive or domineering about it and that assuaged him somewhat. A suck, something searching and prurient, quickly followed by the ingress of that tongue and his knees gave out for a moment. The redhead was-apparently-ready for that because there were pillows where there had previously only been flat mattress; placed carefully to accommodate his hips; and he settled momentarily before rising upwards again.

It was a lazy process, strung out and appreciative and under different circumstances he might have felt spoiled or pandered to but this just felt like something they both needed. His first orgasm was a slow, throbbing thing that rippled out from his core in long desirous waves. Genesis moaned against him as the initial throes began, gripped his hips tighter and let his tongue fuck him through it. For his own part, Sephiroth rode it tenuously, let his spine roll with it and pressed his forehead against the sheets. 

“Shh.”

The realization that he was being somewhat loud about things had him tensing, the cool brush of air from his partner's gentle admonishment a bit of a shock. He almost jerked away but there were fingers pressing into him, inwards and downwards and his focus promptly broke into tatters. Lascivious lips were curved just slightly as Genesis kissed the dip of his spine, hot and opened-mouthed, and he warred with lust and indignance for a moment before clever digits curved and sought and then it didn't matter much anymore. He was-painfully-aware of the fact that his body wanted more, that he was instinctively and biologically setting himself up for being taken and there was a facet of his psyche that associated it with lack of consent. Without his heat, it was hard to not focus on the things Hojo had done, on what he had forced them to do. But his mind was also rankling over the immense satisfaction garnered from penetration and while Genesis seemed content with things as they were, he was apparently a bit more forward-thinking. The silver-haired man also knew that if he didn't ask for it, it was very likely he wasn't going to get it. So when the older man paused to reach forward and stroke over his cock he levered himself on one hand and reached down to catch his lover's fingers. Almost immediately, Genesis stilled.

“Too much?”

Sephiroth shook his head and batted his palm away, lowered himself until he was resting on his forearms and spread his legs somewhat, lifting his ass suggestively.

“Do it” he muttered. 

There was another stretch of time, a ragged intake of breath and long fingers were stroking him again but in a considering sort of way. 

“Seph...I don't…I mean...are you _sure_?”

The fact that Genesis could make him feel solidly furious in the middle of sex was a testament to his ability to enrage. Because if he didn't _want_ he wouldn't have _asked_. At the same time a much more cuddly part of him insisted that his former comrade was trying to be sensitive but he beat such cuddliness sense _less_ and tilted his head to the side, reached back to grope for his partner's hips and shuddered as the girth of the blue-eyed man’s erection rubbed up against him. 

“I’m sure” he replied, craning his neck somewhat so green irises could meet sapphire ones. 

Something in his expression must have solidified some form of resolve that his words could not, because it became quickly apparent that the older man was acquiescing. There was yet another kiss pressed to his spine, an impression of physical closeness and Sephiroth closed his eyes and focused once more on sensation. Genesis didn't obey his request immediately, took his time exploring the rest of body, mouth hot and sensual...like heated velvet against him. When the head of the older man's cock began its slow advance he fought against the urge to shove back against that heaviness...that feeling of solid length filling him. A distant part of his psyche recognized the sensation as his body worked to accommodate his lover's ingress. That stretched, quivering sense of approach...like the calm before the storm.

“You're fucking soaked” Genesis muttered raggedly against his shoulder, hips jerking slightly when he was fully seated. “Lemme know when I can….” he broke off but the continuation of his train of thought wasn't difficult to grasp. 

In different circumstances, he might have rushed things. Because he was incredibly aroused and his mind was rankling for more in an incessant, heated kind of way that was driving him to distraction. He did-however-want to savor this, no matter how much his physicality was telling him otherwise. Exhaling, Sephiroth let himself adjust...listened to the stuttered breaths above him and willed himself into a state of somewhat-less frantic need. Flexing his hips experimentally, his breath caught slightly before he settled once more...letting his fingers grip the sheets...feeling the fabric slide over his palms. His redheaded companion murmured something distracted and he sighed in response...felt his eyelids grow heavy as an absent-minded hand pushed his hair to the side and over one shoulder. 

“You can move” Sephiroth murmured. 

Genesis groaned quietly and hot lips latched onto the nape of his neck as his lover stretched out over him, as the older man's spine undulated while he withdrew somewhat before he thrust forward. Sephiroth nearly bit through his lip trying to quell the satisfied noise that rose up within him, braced himself more fully as goosebumps pebbled over his skin. A little like burning...a little like drowning and his erection was now a near-painful thing...drooling pre-ejaculate onto the sheets. The former General had freed one of his palms so he could reach down and take himself in hand when the redheaded ex-soldier thrust harder-didn’t stop-kept going in a series of sharp movements and the static, thrashing current that whipped through him had a surprised and entirely unhinged noise falling from his mouth...had him burying his head in the coverlets as he came abruptly and unexpectedly. This time it was low in his groin, pulling...constricting like a knot yanked taut. The chuckle that was forced from the former Commander was tinged with a kind of dark debauchery...utterly mindless as Sephiroth rode his orgasm blindly...almost deliriously.

And he was face down against the mattress, ragged breathing permeating the air as Genesis spread him somewhat, slowed so he could-assumably-watch the head of his cock disappear and reappear from inside him. The licentiousness of it might have disturbed him if he wasn’t so far gone; if his sex wasn’t wet and aching and full. It wasn’t like he’d forgotten the last time they’d done this...but the recollections of his heat were hazy at best...snippets of lost sensation with no real chronological order. Being present in it...fully aware and entirely participant was different; the intensity of it was different. Sephiroth didn’t entirely know if he was supposed to be doing anything, if he should be responding in a specific way or reciprocating, but his body seemed to know what to do; seemed to act on its own as he allowed the upper half of his torso to sink somewhat lower while raising the lower half to achieve a better angle. And he could feel the flush on his face...the glassiness of his eyes and the inflamed, voltaic nature of his urges. Like a pattern, like memorization in flesh and sighs. He let himself have it, did his best to give himself to the occurrence of it because of who he was with and the amount of trust between them. And when he hesitated while his proclivities told him to arch back, to move in synchronicity with his partner’s body, Genesis leaned down and purred thaumaturgy into his ear until he couldn’t stop himself...couldn’t fight the instinctual urge to compensate. 

“You feel good?” Like musical felt...his partner’s voice. Like mercury on black velvet...shimmering and liquid yet shapely. Sephiroth swallowed, tried to form some type of response but the older man chose that moment to twist his hips as he moved...chose to grind into him and his mouth fell open stupidly, bewilderedly...bereaved of coherent communication. The ripples of another orgasm threatened to overtake him; the walls of his arousal constricted in a series of rhythmic fluctuations before he managed to fight it back down and the former Commander laughed breathlessly, though there was only tenderness behind it. When he spoke again, his voice was near to his ear. _”Mmmm_ , you _liked_ that.” 

And-of course-once Genesis found a prize he was going to utilize that prize. Sephiroth was still trying to edge himself back from the brink when a hand snaked under him to palm his dick. It played for a moment as his former comrade slowed once more, as he peppered his shoulders with a deceptively lazy pattern of kisses with no real aim. The scarlet-haired man let him grow comfortable with it...with the somnolent but no less desirous pattern of their lovemaking. The former General allowed himself ease, exhaled shakily into the sheets and tilted his head to the side. Almost immediately, long fingers pulled the hair obscuring his visage away, and the quiet intake of ravenous breath that came from his partner should have been his warning. He disregarded it in favor of focus...too wrapped up in it all to notice or care. Then-abruptly-Genesis drove inwards a bit harder; rutted up against him again and kept going...put some of his weight behind it. 

_”Genes-!”_

“Come for me” the redhead breathed, his voice strangled and tenuous. 

Sephiroth’s spine arched before he knew what he was really doing, his sex constricted even as he gave voice to his surprised gratification. And it was almost like he curled into himself, almost like exploding at the same time as the older man’s erection abused that concealed position of ecstacy. His third orgasm felt like it was rolling thick and saccharine over his lips, which he promptly sunk his teeth into while his physicality seized. Something in him insisted that it was _’too much!’_ while a larger part of him howled for _’more.’_

At that point, there was no reason to pretend that this was going to be a slow, sweet and drawn out affair. And while both of them were conscious of the younger man’s condition, they were also cognizant enough to know that a bit of passion in the bedroom wasn’t going to hurt anyone involved. So when Genesis drew him upwards, sat back on his haunches so Sephiroth could sit up more...driving himself backward against the length of him ‘till they both moaned...neither of them were worried. Scarlet locks were falling over his shoulder and he sunk his fingers into it...tugged until the older man groaned loudly and cupped the protrusion at his abdomen-fingers digging into the swell of it. The shiver of depravity that came with it was theirs alone because it wasn’t so much about what it was than it was about how it had come to be. And the crimson-haired man touched him covetously, hungrily; and the former General gave himself to that sense of possession because he wouldn’t have given into it anywhere else. 

“Seph, I can’t-” 

There was also no use pretending they were going to last at this sort of pace.

Genesis’ length appeared to press more thoroughly against him...seemed to grow larger and swollen and Sephiroth had maybe a few seconds to focus on it before a particularly hard thrust had him arching upwards, had his hair falling between them as he rolled his hips. All logical thought fled before him...all semblance of tactical and analytical mentality crumbled to dust as that tight coil of physical and metaphysical bliss loosed itself from its moorings and sailed forth upon waves of ecstasy. Dimly, he was aware that his hand had reached back to still his partner as he came-hunched over and whining something wordless-of the older man making a frankly magnificent effort to hold back. When warmth splattered onto the sheets in pearly strings, Genesis’ control shattered; became something hard and deep that would have drawn another orgasm out of him if he wasn't feeling like he'd just been thrown into a void of delirium. And the groans falling from his lips were unintelligible supplications, intermingled with his redheaded companion's quiet cry of release. They hung suspended in the moment; taut, trembling limbs and heaving breaths... covetous fingers and seeking lips. 

“Gaia” Genesis half-whimpered, half-moaned. “You're some kind of astral incubus.” 

Against his will, still shuddering with the aftershocks, Sephiroth snorted. 

“I'll take that as a compliment” he said raggedly. “...This time. Though I'm interested in how your faith plays any part in that statement.”

He could feel the former Commander's grin against his neck as the redhead shifted and withdrew... wincing as he realized he would need to use the facilities sooner than later... considering the overall stickiness of everything. 

“Shut up.”

With that statement, Genesis rolled off of him; flopping onto the mattress with an inglorious sigh...limbs splayed this way and that across the coverlet. Lowering himself onto his side with his outside leg hitched upwards, Sephiroth let himself come down, felt his eyes droop warningly even as his mind insisted that that was not a good idea. Eventually, he found the willpower to drag himself to the bathroom; staggered inside and eyed the shower for a moment afterwards before stepping in and scrubbing himself over as hastily as possible. The pounding heat of the spray woke him up, and by the time he emerged his redheaded companion was waiting for his turn a little bit impatiently. Blue eyes softened when they met his and Genesis caught his waist when he passed while toweling his hair dry, mumbled a distracted but no less affectionate _'I love you’_ before disappearing into the space he had just vacated. The former General stared somewhat forlornly at the bed before yanking some clothes from the duffel bag and pulling them on. His partner reemerged while he was lacing his boots, his stomach growling as he straightened. 

“Trajectory” he said idly. “Stay here?” 

Genesis paused halfway through pulling his shirt on, seemed to consider his query as his fingers wiggled in the fabric before yanking it downwards. 

“I think so” he said slowly, reaching for his jacket. “Though the fact that Mati thinks you're a woman complicates things a little bit.” Sapphire irises cut to him uncertainly. “...Do you think you could keep up the pretense?”

Sephiroth snorted. 

“...Of being female? It wasn't intentional in the first place.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he grimaced. “And I'm not...girly by nature.” 

Cerise lips curled into a wry smile.

“I'm aware” was the dry reply. “Still, I guess you could make a show of adjusting your 'binder’ every once in a while... don't piss in the woods, stuff like that.”

He hesitated.

Not because it wasn't a fair outlook, but because he was reluctant to put himself in a vulnerable position. Reluctantly, he acknowledged his views were somewhat mysogoinstic, because he knew women were strong. There were just too many factors that made him sexually ambiguous already. And he didn't _like_ the sense of insecurity that came with his condition... didn't like the constant outlook of staggering strangeness but he couldn't really help it either. Blue eyes were watching him with a quiet sort of understanding.

“Why don't you just...be yourself” Genesis murmured. “Obviously it was convincing enough for Mati, why do anything different?” The relief that rose to suffuse him must have shown somewhat in Sephiroth's expression because his redheaded companion closed the space between them until they were toe-to-toe; a hand rising to tug gently at an errant strand of silver hair. “Gaia, I’m sorry Seph” he muttered. “Sometimes...I forget that in all of this-” he appeared to hesitate. “-I can’t really imagine, what it’s like I mean. And I think it’s easy for me to overlook the fact that you’re shouldering the most even though we’re trying to do this together. Neither of us fucking asked for this, but you’re the one who has to change so much for it and-”

“-It’s alright” the former General interrupted, a little bit exasperatedly. “Gen, I’m not...invalid. And I know I say that a considerable amount, but I say it so you don’t feel like you’re...at the forefront of everything.” 

Scarlet-wreathed eyes crinkled at the corners as the older man’s expression grew quietly affectionate.

“You could leave the field lingo out of conversations like this y’know” he chuckled. 

Sephiroth huffed somewhat indignantly.

“It’s habitual.”

Genesis smiled.

“Yeah, I know.” He paused before continuing. “But I want you to know that if I ever get pushy, you need to throw me into a lake or some shit.” 

At this, Sephiroth laughed. And it felt good to let loose, to let some of the tension that seemed to be constantly between them fly away with his mirth. Drawing the older man close, he pressed a kiss to his brow before carding his fingers through his hair.

“Genesis” he chuckled. “If you weren’t pushy, I think I’d take you to the hospital.” The grin he received in response was brilliant. “I’m grateful to be here with you, all of you…”

“...Nothing is going to change that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> **R &R**


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Seph chapter! Because the last chapter was mostly porn.

“If you tell me to _'be patient’_ one more time I'm going to braid your hair while you sleep.”

Sephiroth blinked at Genesis, a silver brow rising somewhat as he took in his furiously solemn expression. They were sitting next to the lake just outside the settlement; his redheaded companion with a fishing pole and an attitude veering closer and closer to 'homicidal’ by the minute, and he with their rucksack and several lures that he'd only just finished detangling from what felt like miles of line. The air was crisp and cool, the trees surrounding them beginning to yellow just-slightly as Fall crept in on them. The wind was whistling through leaves inundated with dissolving chlorophyll like rice in a raincatcher... hissing softly as a muted backdrop behind the symphony of a flock of geese gathered on the far side of the lake. They would fly South soon...it was inevitable. Almost as inevitable as the slow march of Autumn.

Their days were somewhat tenuous.

Mostly because they spent them in constant fear of being caught out, but also because they were getting comfortable. They'd been in Saluberhafen-as it was dubbed by the locals-for nearly three weeks. During that time, the two of them had spent a considerable amount of time integrating themselves into the community as seamlessly as possible. This was somewhat easier for Genesis, because he could chop wood and carry things of considerable heft. He'd quickly gained the favor of Athir because he was capable and eager to work. There was also the fact that the redheaded former Commander was sociable and overall pleasant to be around...people liked him automatically because he was friendly and overall genuine. Several times, he'd observed some of the younger girls looking after him with longing expressions; one of them had tried to give him flowers….and she'd been gently but firmly rebuffed.

For Sephiroth it was considerably more difficult.

His condition prevented him from doing hard labor, and Mati seemed to be his constant shadow. She was quick to insist that he rest if she saw that he needed it, and more often than not he found himself keeping her quiet but not unpleasant company. Their talk consisted of idle things...of leisure activities, cuisine they both enjoyed or-more often than not-of Mati's childhood. There were times when he almost suspected she knew more than she let on. She was quick to insist on giving him privacy when it came to physical matters, and she didn't press to have him examined by a midwife even though he knew there were at least two in the village. If anything her constant dogging kept the other members of the settlement from venturing too close or getting too curious. Nevertheless, there were times when he just wanted to be alone...when he wanted to be able to breathe.

Mornings were usually spent around a communal fire trading news or eating in quiet silence. It seemed that Mati was the village chef-which explained her sometimes alarming desire to shove food down both of their throats-and most of the younger women deferred to her when it came to cooking. Once everyone had eaten the majority of the populace drifted off to their respective tasks before returning for cold leftovers around midday...sometimes in groups...sometimes separately. The children were tutored by both the female and male sects of the settlement, and it seemed like they were encouraged to pursue different professions and pursuits in favor of sequestering responsibilities and tasks to specific sexes. Mornings were normally reserved for academic instruction and afternoons were spent learning about proficiencies that would sustain the village overall. Sephiroth had spent an extremely awkward Thursday evening explaining economics to a group of twelve year olds that seemed like they wanted to murder him. He was rescued by Genesis, who proceeded to turn it into a theatrical production along the lines of _  
‘B is for Budget Deficit and Bellydancing’, ’F is for Finance and Foxtrot’,_ and _’T is for Taxation and Tango’_ and quickly found that it was he who wanted to kill something. Or someone.

When he wasn’t being chased after he spent a considerable amount of time trying to find different ways to stay in shape. Mainly, jogging far, far away from any semblance of human presence. Sometimes Genesis went with him and sometimes he didn’t but it was hard to talk and he was content with the circumstances either way. At other times he was able to sequester himself next to a fire pit and read through a book or try to find news on the radio but most of their intel was next to none. Shinra didn’t seem to be doing anything productive save for spouting warnings about how dangerous the two of them were amid day to day reports. There was no word that they could concretely associate with Angeal or Tseng and there were times he entirely despaired of the concept of propaganda. There was the glaring truth that they were going to have to return to HQ eventually...whether before or after he gave birth, and the idea of sitting behind his desk again wasn’t exactly as unappealing as it had once been. Neither of them were interested in ‘settling down’ or making a life for themselves outside of what they were accustomed to. And while it was pleasant to see the world it was equally important that the world have some form of stability.

Genesis frequently lamented the fact that Angeal was too nice to usurp anything or anyone and Sephiroth was much inclined to agree. Because if the dark-haired first had decided to make a move against the President they were fairly sure they’d have heard of it already. There was also the worrisome fact that his partner’s fellow Commander hadn’t been at their rendezvous point. He tried not to discuss it too frequently because it was a point of contention between them, but all signs pointed to the fact that Hewely had been intercepted...which did not bode well for his current status. For all they knew, Angeal had been branded a traitor and thrown into a dark cell. The SOLDIER in him was excited at the prospect of a rescue mission but the parent in him was rattling on about how they were going to tote an infant hundreds of miles back to HQ and then place it somewhere safe while they did what needed to be done.

This was-of course-thinking far ahead of the present.

Because in the present there was the reality that he was soon going to be incapable of moving anywhere. Once winter set in it would be too cold for them to travel far for great stretches of time, but they were going to have to leave soon or he was very likely going to give birth right here with Mati hovering between his legs. The mere idea of it was enough to make him want to throw up. An instinctual facet of his psyche was screaming that he needed to hole himself up somewhere and wait things out alone. This was probably counterproductive, because he didn't know anything about giving birth and if he started hemorrhaging he was just as likely to lay there and bleed out than do anything to save his life purely out of panic. His pain threshold was so high he was occasionally guilty of receiving mortal wounds without being aware of them and he supposed-somewhat idiotically-that giving birth would be no exception.

Other than his rampant thoughts, his running, his avoiding of Mati, most of what Sephiroth did was central to trade. Despite the fact that Salubarhafen was stationary there were a few nomadic groups that passed through it during this time of year. Most of them were going South for the winter; the harsh Northern climate too virulent for them to sustain for any length of time. Mati let him help with categorizing inventory and talking to tired traders. The good majority of it was simple arithmetic but it was something to do with his mind so he didn’t complain. Unfortunately, the fact that most of their visitors were moving more towards the lower continent meant that they didn’t receive any news that wasn’t old news. Nomads didn’t tend to keep up with current events and while he kept his hair bundled under his hat he seriously doubted it was necessary; no one so much as spared him a glance. He would-effectively-regret leaving it all behind because it was easy and undemanding; but he wouldn’t regret it because he was bored to tears most of the time.

It was Saturday by his reckoning.

He only guessed this because none of the men had gone out to hunt or chop wood and he and Genesis were both unpreoccupied enough to sit by the lake and fish for something. In truth, he was somewhat interested because he’d never actually fished before. His second-in-command apparently had and apparently hated it with a kind of viciousness that could only come from years of fruitless experience. If they’d stayed within the settlement limits they were bound to run into someone that needed something done and while neither of them minded helping this was the first significant stretch of time they’d gotten alone together in several days. Mati had packed them a lunch and Athir had provided the poles and they’d been sent away with enough shooing that both of them had taken it as a good indicator that this was what they were supposed to be doing.

No one asked about their relationship.

The first time this had occurred to him, Sephiroth had found it odd. They were clearly the only non-heterosexual pair within several miles but there wasn’t a soul that seemed to find it strange. And even if most of them thought he was a woman he was clearly not your typical run-of-the-mill woman. Most of the girls wore dresses and the majority of the older female populace wore blouses and skirts. The silver-haired ex-SOLDIER was fairly sure he would kill anyone who brought a skirt within fifty paces of him but no one had commented on his choice of dress or the fact that he was very obviously-at this point-carrying a child. And while he wasn’t permitted to carry heavy objects no one save for Mati fussed over him either, which was very relieving but also very strange. Most of the villagers, including the children, treated him like he was simply another person. He was grateful, but it made him incredibly anxious because something in him insisted that there was something very wrong with that. Stretching his legs out, the green-eyed former General tilted his head and let his eyes drop to half-mast.

“That’s not much of a threat” he said dryly.

Genesis snorted.

“Well I can’t very well challenge you to a duel” he retorted. Blue eyes landed on the picnic basket. “What’s in that anyway?”

“Some type of egg salad, from the smell of it” Sephiroth replied, wrinkling his nose.

His redheaded companion grimaced and jiggled the fishing pole a bit more enthusiastically.

“I’m never going to understand eggs as a lunch staple” he groused.

“Mati said something about them being ‘beaten and eaten’” the younger man muttered sleepily.

“Terms like that should be sequestered to blow jobs and nothing else” was the snappish retort.

Against his will, Sephiroth felt his lip twitch. Letting his eyes cut to the side, he observed as his scarlet-haired companion fiddled with the reel with a somewhat irritated expression.

“It might be too late in the year” he commented at length, choosing to ignore the fellatio-related statement. “Do you even know what you’re catching?”

The evil glare that was sent his way was almost enough to make him smile but he refrained out of sincere appreciation for life and limb. Genesis seemed to deliberate for a split second before opening his mouth.

“Trout.”

A silver brow winged upwards.

“We ought to pack it up until evening then because it’s too cold to fish for them right now.”

Blue eyes became immediately thunderous...those aquiline features settling into one of distinct indignation and rage.

“Oh, and you’re the expert are you? Mr. _I’ve-never-fished-before-this-should-be-interesting.’?!”_

“Just because I’ve never fished doesn’t mean I’ve never _read_ ’.”

“Because reading will just teach you everything you need to know in life” Genesis said grumpily. When Sephiroth shot him a cross look, a corner of those cerise lips curled upwards tellingly. A moment later, and his companion let out an explosive sigh. “Maybe they’re _dumb_ trout” he said in a mock-plaintive voice. “Because Seph, if I don’t catch anything I’m going to throw myself in and then you’ll have to fish me out.”

“I’m not fishing you out of anywhere” the silver-haired ex-first replied, smirking. “You’ll just have to grow a set of gills and learn to thrash sideways.”

Blue eyes rolled dramatically.

“You’re just the picture of romanticism” was the dry reply. “Whatever, I’d be the sexiest fish in the lake.”

“And the first one to get hooked” Sephiroth shot back, laughter coloring his tone. “Because both you and I know you could _not_ resist jumping around and showing off your scales.” He made a show of looking his lover up and down. “Though...I have to say...you’d be quite a catch.”

That familiar mouth twitched furiously for a moment before the older man burst into a series of poorly-suppressed sniggers that eventually dissolved into a succession of guffaws.

“Don’t flirt with me ever again” Genesis chortled once he’d recovered himself a little bit, wiping tears from his eyes and grinning in a helpless sort of way. “I _mean_ it.”

They fell into a comfortable sort of silence and Sephiroth reverted his focus to their lunch basket, which turned out to have things other than egg salad. They shared it between them and fell into their usual discussion regarding when they were going to leave and where they were going to go. Truthfully, the more they talked about the more reticent it seemed they were to abandon a place that had given them some form of solace. They knew-however-that remaining around so many people would ultimately only put the entire settlement in danger; especially if Shinra accused them of aiding and abetting war criminals. Eventually, their rapport involving location died out as well...and they were left with the sound of the water and the cool breeze circulating around them. Letting his gaze wander over his partner, the former General allowed himself a moment to appreciate the color in his cheeks...the way the wind caught his hair and made it dance somewhat...like a flame in the wind. Blue eyes were somewhat cool in their tranquil pensiveness and he wished he had more moments like this to compare it to.

“There’s something I wanted to discuss.”

Sephiroth startled somewhat and watched as Genesis began to reel in the line, setting the pole down once he was finished. Sapphire irises regarded him for a moment before the older man made his way over to him...sitting down across from him much like he had the morning after they’d first kissed in the Sleeping Forest. This time, when his lover proffered his hands he took them automatically, without hesitance, awkwardness, or apprehension. A pair of thumbs stroked over his palm before stilling, and a sense of foreboding stirred within his chest as the former Commander looked over his shoulder at the settlement; his expression indicative of the fact that he was collecting his thoughts.

“I want...I want to talk about Hojo.” Frowning, the silver-haired ex-first puzzled over the statement before the redhead continued. “...The things he did to you...you know they were wrong, don’t you?”

“You know I do” Sephiroth replied, tight-lipped. Inwardly, his heart sank, because this was a discussion they likely should have had a long time ago...but that didn’t mean he wanted to have it now. “Why are we discussing this?”

“Because I feel like...because of what he _told_ you you were...because of his actions….this-” a long-fingered hand left his to place itself over the swell at his middle. “-Isn’t something entirely positive to you...I feel like it’s something forced on you, and it is, but I also think that maybe this isn’t as beautiful to you as it is to me. Like it’s a manifestation of something you were told made you...ugly. And I just want to make sure that you know that to me it’s not.”

He recoiled because it hurt.

It hurt, but it was also true. Taking a deep breath and pulling his fingers away, Sephiroth turned his head to the side and exhaled unsteadily. It was something he’d been considering for a long time, truthfully. The fact that he could possibly reject their daughter when she was born because she was a product of his strangeness was a painful concept, but it was also a reality. Hojo had told him-repeatedly-from the moment he could understand what he was saying that he was inferior. At the time, he hadn’t known it was a biological inferiority, but once the truth that his knowledge of anatomy was a falsehood came to light he’d been forced to look at things differently. He knew it was illogical; that it was something about himself that he couldn’t control, but that didn’t make it any more attractive.

Sephiroth was also frightened that their daughter would be like him.

Not in the sense of anatomical difference, because that had already been ruled out...but in the sense of being surrounded by an aura of strangeness. And to have a parent that was so different wasn’t going to be easy. He didn’t know how they were going to explain her conception to her...how they were going to make her understand that just because _her_ father had given birth to her that didn’t mean that other men couldn’t do the same thing. If she ever went to school, if she ever made friends in a world that was free of fear and tyranny there was still the possibility that she would be subject to the cruelty of her peers just because of how she was born. The guilt that had come with the realization of this was crushing...because no child should have to endure that. He and Genesis had been powerful figureheads in a powerful regime, that alone was enough to separate her. The fact that there was _more_ to it was a heinous thing.

“You’ve known pain too” he said flatly.

Genesis sighed.

“Yeah. I have. A lot of people have experienced pain, Seph. But that doesn’t mean everyone’s pain is the same. It’s unique to the individual, just like every individual is unique. I’m not you and you’re not me. We’re together, sure...but we’re not an amoeba. I don’t want to dismiss something like this just because it’s easy to ignore it.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say” the younger man said bitterly at length. “It’s hard to dismiss...but I don’t particularly want to focus on it either.”

“Do you really want to focus on it after she’s born though?”

Closing his eyes, his brows drawn together, Sephiroth shook his head.

“This doesn’t help-”

“-Keeping it _in_ doesn’t help” was the impassioned response. “Hojo used you Seph! In _horrible_ ways and you just...I don’t know what you did with it-what you _do_ with it-but-”

“-I drank it away” the former General snapped. Genesis closed his mouth and he gritted his teeth. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Because that’s what I did. I drank until I couldn’t feel it anymore, until I forgot who I was and what I was and what I could or couldn’t do. I put on a face every day and I fell into a black hole at night. Now I can’t do that. Now our child is going to grow up with a father who’s nothing like her father’s friends, or her friend’s fathers. And I don’t know how we’re going to explain that to her Genesis! I don’t know how I’m going to tell her that her grandfather was disappointed by her sex! That her lineage is fraught in hatred and darkness and that we didn’t want her in the first place-”

“-Stop.” The hand at his abdomen pressed downwards somewhat and the silver-haired man tried to focus on it through the haze of panic suffusing him. “Seph, _stop.”_ Those blue eyes were plaintitive. “It doesn’t matter who you are. Fuck, it doesn’t matter _what_ you are if you’re going to go there. What matters is that she’s loved, _now_. By us.”

“I don’t even know who I am” the green-eyed ex-SOLDIER muttered. “How am I supposed to teach a human being who she is when I don’t know who I am?”

“When the hell did you get so existential and shit?” was the impatient response. “Sephiroth, you’re a fucking beautiful person. I know you don’t think you’re beautiful but you’re beautiful so deal with it. Suck it up. And just because someone _told_ you you weren't-”

“-He didn't just tell me” was the ragged reply. “He _showed_ me.” The grief that rose up in his chest was foreign. Because he'd buried it as thoroughly as he could, under dogma and alcohol. “More often than I want to think about.”

It was torturous to relive it...the flashing virulence of icy spectacles...the hot agony of the scalpel. The detached observance of the techs. Faintly, he remembered that he used to scream, that he used to beg but he'd promised himself he wouldn't. That determination was just as insidious as the torture because it was the only thing keeping him alive. He woke up and eliminated a physical or psychical response every morning; _'today, I won't scream’...'today, I won't cry’...'today, I won't flinch’...'today I won't feel…’_ Everything about his existence was systematic damage control for the sake of longevity. And now he was expecting a child he hadn't planned and he was supposed to be nurturing and selfless and all the things he had never been taught to be. As if in response to his thoughts, the living culmination of his actions stirred within him...quiet and soft and everything he _wasn't_

Sephiroth reached out reflexively, clutched at Genesis’ shoulder and dropped his head on to it when his partner slid closer, till their legs were jumbled together and fingers were sinking into his hair. Biting his lip, the former General shivered slightly and returned the gesture. He lost himself  
in crimson locks and a familiar heartbeat until he could think again...until he could bear the barren landscape of his mentality.

"I know he showed you" was the quiet reply, and if his partner's tone wavered a bit he pushed the emotion behind it to the side in order to focus on not falling apart. "And it  _tortures_ me that he showed you, especially in...certain mannerisms of approach." A bitter chuckle. "In some ways, I feel terrible for daring to even fucking touch you. Because any touch you'd know before that-" he broke off and continued somewhat separately from the topic. “-I'm trying to tell you” Genesis murmured, his voice thick. “That you didn't deserve that, that you're worth more than you will ever know. And I know that doesn't take it away... doesn't make it any less painful...but I would _die_ to protect your right to never experience that again... to protect your right to be free.”

It meant something.

'Something’ was a pure elucidation for the fact that it meant everything to him. Because no one had offered to take that place before, had never willingly stepped into a defensive position just because they _wanted_ to. And he'd spent a considerable amount of time in that position when Genesis was degrading, had stripped himself to the psychical bone just because he wanted his partner to survive...so he knew-a little bit-about the emotions behind it. This was different because it was more about his past than it was about the present; more about his worth than it was about the fact that he was dying or in immediate danger.

“I'm trying” Genesis murmured against his cheek. “To tell that little boy inside you that it's not his fault that he was always in pain just because he was different.”

There was-Sephiroth acknowledged-a distinct similarity between being offered recompense and being punched in the face.

The emotion that crawled up his throat felt like a howl, a scream, and a sob rolled up into one. He didn't give it voice-because he was too emotional these days for his own liking already-but he did let it out in the form of a full-body shudder. And if he was staring wide-eyed at the woolen weave of the former Commander's sweater trying not to cry, neither of them acknowledged it. Because that first initial step towards healing was a bit like tearing into a million pieces...a little bit like being gutted and left to bleed out on the floor. And he was probably gripping Genesis’ hair a little too tight, was possibly going to give him a headache with the tenuous hold he had on it, but the older man seemed to understand.

“Genesis” he said raggedly. “I'm so-”

“-If you say you're fucking sorry this entire conversation was a waste of time” was the fierce response. Swallowing, the silver-haired ex-soldier closed his eyes and breathed. “ _I'm_ sorry” the redhead continued. “I should have brought this up sooner, but this isn't something you want in your head when you have a kid. And I know one conversation isn't going to fix things, but I think both of us spend a lot of time hating the circumstances around us when we should be more focused on not hating ourselves. And maybe it's not  _hate,_ per say, but we're so driven...so focused...it's a good thing but it's also what we were molded to be. We're always kicking and screaming about freedom, and both of us deserve freedom but we also deserve to just...sit back. Breathe. And I don't mean that in a sense of getting away, because getting away for us sometimes feels like we're just running and running and  _running._ I mean just...stopping. We never stop. I'm as bad for it as you are, and if we can't move away from it...I don't know why we're even here “

The silence between them this time was a shared understanding of grief, of the acknowledgement of grief.

“When you were degrading-” Sephiroth began.

“-I was in pain” the scarlet-haired man interrupted yet again. “And I don't think we've really talked about that either, because there are still times I feel like I'm dead, but I was in a lot of pain and you didn't listen to me but I'm glad you didn't. Right now, this is about you...your individual pain, not mine. And it doesn't make you weak to feel that, Seph. But rationalizing it in comparison to me... trying to find an agony-based symbiosis for experience... that's what's hurting us. So-just- _let it go_.”

It was hard.

Because he was so used to seeing them in a unified concept of shared suffering. But he also knew that Genesis was right; that they spent far too much time trying to rationalize the disasters in their lives so they could come out even and nothing was that simple. He was grateful-at the very least-that this was something they could talk about. And he'd never have thought it would be something he was grateful for, but he was. So when Sephiroth opened his mouth again, the words he spoke were those of profound appreciation…because now, at least...they didn't have to pretend the facets of their lives were solely based on the torture or trials that had come before.

“...Thank you.” Raising his head, Sephiroth fixed his companion with an expression of grave sincerity. “You're more than I deserve.”

Genesis smiled, and it was honest, but it was also melancholy.

“You beautiful pregnant idiot” he muttered, leaning forward to capture his lips. “I think you're exactly what I deserve...and maybe a bit more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not a lot of action in this chapter. This was...so fucking hard to write. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
>  
> 
> **R &R**


	13. Chapter 13

They left a week later.

Shouldering the duffel-which was considerably heavier than it had been the last time they’d left a destination-Genesis glanced back at the circumvallate of pods behind them. It was hard to make them out in the dark of the wee morning hours, but the glint of moonlight off metal was just enough to allow him to tuck the memory away for later use. Ahead of him, Sephiroth was scouting out their path with a practiced eye...green irises glowing dully in the low light. Before them, the terrain swept Northwards in a sea of temperate coniferous forest. Here and there the occasional odd deciduous tree sported gaudy, bright fall colors like those around the lake at their backs, but for the most part, the tree trunks before them were a haze of fuzzy green. A deer path was apparent just a few feet ahead and they intended to follow it as long as they could. Any trail was better than no trail, even if the way wasn’t necessarily man-made.

It was hard to leave.

The people of Saluberhafen had been good to them. Genesis didn’t necessarily enjoy the tasks he had to mete out on a day-to-day basis, but it was easy work that kept his mind somewhat preoccupied. He was a poor hunter and his trapping skills were better served for catching insurgents. But the simplicity of it was like the lull before the storm. Athir was always encouraging, whether he came back with anything or not, and if he didn’t feel like looking for food there were other things to do like split wood or haul brush. So much of the community was reliant on natural factors to keep them afloat. It was strange to live with people who didn’t put much faith in technology or industry but at the same time, it was comforting to know that such people existed. The scarlet-haired ex-soldier couldn’t rightly say that it was a lifestyle he preferred, but he respected it...admired it even. Maybe a long time ago, when he was unattached and unexpecting, he might have enjoyed the concept of the nomadic lifestyle more. But he missed having a comm he could use without worrying about getting traced by the Turks and he missed watching television. He also missed hot baths and spa days and drinking but that was beside the point...he just missed modern living.

They were given a warm send-off.

It was obvious that Mati didn’t want them to go. She practically begged them not to go, her eyes flitting frantically to Sephiroth every five seconds while she tried to talk them out of it. At the same time, there was the acknowledgment that if they stayed...they would have a lot of explaining to do. Sephiroth could not-without reasonable doubt-give birth there. It would raise too many questions, and their ambiguity would only take them so far. There was also the fact that they were putting everyone in considerable danger simply by existing in close proximity. The idea of the kind-hearted people they’d spent so much time with being led away for questioning or imprisonment was so painful Genesis couldn’t think about it for longer than a few minutes. Everyone knew who they were...they simply weren’t saying anything. So when Athir stepped in to calm his wife and wish them well, the matriarch of the village burst into tears but acquiesced nevertheless.

It was a bittersweet thing, to see the people they’d gotten to know over the past few weeks prepare food so they could travel reasonably far without having to worry about going hungry. According to the men in the village, water was fairly abundant in the form of rivers and streams and the risk of contamination was near to none. They were given two thick, hand-woven blankets that would keep out the cold and some of the younger women had taken the time to fashion them bedrolls...something they did not have. Clothes were somewhat a scarcity in Saluberhafen regardless, but the few seamstresses there had pulled together to fashion them an extra set each; when they were given over to them a part of Genesis wondered at the fact that something seemingly so insignificant before could now be worth more than several thousand Gil. The children had taken the time to pound out some tin water canteens from whatever scraps they could find and it was with a sincere amount of tightness in his chest that he watched Sephiroth kneel down-despite the now somewhat-considerable effort it took him to do so-to let the little boy who handed them over hug him before he walked away with his head hanging low.

There was a ‘sending off’ party of sorts, though it was more like a somewhat more extravagant version of the nights they were used to. Mati cooked so much he was surprised they didn’t die of overindulgence but it seemed like a grave oversight to let so much deliciousness go to waste. Someone brought out an ancient violin and the younger men and women danced just because they could. There was something terribly simple about it in a way that made his heart feel weak...the roar of the fire...the shadowy grace of cavorting figures...the haunting trill of the strings in the cold air. Sparks danced upwards to meld with the dark sky along with the voices of those they’d spent their time with and it felt like they were leaving one world so they could plunge into the unknown; a world filled with warmth and laughter and love that was so different from what they were accustomed to. At the same time, he acknowledged that they didn’t belong in such a world...that tranquility was something taken in increments and not long, drawn-out stretches of time.

....And so they left.

It was cold. Kicking at the frost-dusted grass, Genesis amended his mental statement. _Colder_...it was colder. The skies were almost always a kind of steely, iron-grey that pre-heralded snowfall and each day they seemed to get heavier and more ominous. He’d never been a person that worried unduly about the weather but now he was that person and it was strange and panic-inducing. Out here...the unknown was a yawning...tumbling thing that seemed to stretch on forever. It danced in the dappled shadows of tree trunks and whispered in the bitter breeze that kissed his cheeks with a little more force than was really necessary. Everything about this was an anomaly...a catalyst that could quickly switch from one thing to the next with no real warning at all. The creepy environmentalist in him insisted that it was beautiful-and it was-but it wasn’t exactly _home_ per say and he didn’t want to cavort about the wilderness for the rest of his life like some turbid hermit. And-of course-Sephiroth was pregnant.

At this point, Sephiroth was very pregnant.

This specific facet hadn’t really hit him quite so hard until now. Sephiroth was carrying around something that would eventually _come out of him_ as a pink squirming crying thing and it was nearly November. This meant that his partner was-effectively-seven months-or fourteen months, however the hell you wanted to look at it-along and growing at a rate that sometimes left him a little bit staggered. Most of the younger man was otherwise the same save for the fact that he had a little bit more color to his cheeks and he looked like he was carrying a physically proportionate beach ball under the hem of his shirt. Genesis didn’t-of course-mention this out loud because he didn’t want to be beheaded with a tree branch. But there was no ignoring the fact that they were running to the wire on their time frame when it came to finding a place to have a human being. He’d been privy to several horrific nightmares, one of them involving Sephiroth giving birth on top of a mountain with the baby coming out looking like a small, hairy lumberjack. Others involved his partner’s water breaking dead center in the middle of fucking nowhere. The second was looking like more of a realistic possibility because he didn’t think he could get Sephiroth to climb a mountain for all the massages, chocolate, and sex in the world.

Sex. That was another issue.

Genesis liked to think of himself as a fairly horny person on a daily to bi-daily basis. But Sephiroth’s sex drive was-frankly-ridiculous. He’d come to this realization when he was balls-deep in his partner in the back of an inventory shed at the edge of the settlement. With his pants around his ankles, his lover demanding a fifth orgasm in a flat but ultimately bossy voice and the somewhat desperate throb of his overused dick, the redhead acknowledged that he may have met his sexual match. Because Sephiroth wanted to be fucked constantly and while he loved that his partner was opening up to his more sleazy side he did not have the stamina to keep up with it. Genesis was thirty years old...his sexual prime was ending, and if what he knew about x-chromosome-related libido was correct, his partner’s would only get stronger in the coming years. This was kind of bad because if they continued to bang like this post-baby Sephiroth was going to be pregnant every two years and neither of them fucking needed that. Condoms were a staple when you could control yourself but his silver-haired, gorgeous lover had very little control and it was adorable but it was also kind of intimidating.

That wasn’t to say it wasn’t hot.

Sometimes it was so hot he didn’t know what to do with himself. They’d discovered-entirely by accident-that the blue-eyed ex-FIRST could simulate the younger man’s prostate and his g-spot simultaneously. This was done during a particularly frenetic side-lying session of lovemaking. The Commander had the privilege of watching Sephiroth’s eyes roll back while he came for thirty seconds straight. He was then accosted with a _’holy shit’_ moment of panic and pained pleasure because it felt like his cock was being squeezed into oblivion as moisture flooded over him. This was quickly followed by relief because anal was an option he hadn’t considered before, but he was thankful and felt kind of stupid that he’d never gone down that road in the past. That wasn’t to say he didn’t expect to be thoroughly fucked on a regular basis after this was all over but right now he was managing with what he had, and what he had was a sexually depraved partner who constantly needed his dick inside of him at weird and sometimes inconvenient times. And he wasn’t complaining because Sephiroth was fucking beautiful even when he was acting like a lagomorph. As if privy to his thoughts, the subject of his rumination turned and leveled him with a very stern and Generalish look. Genesis favored him with a sort of tentative half-smile and those emerald eyes grew soft before their focus was turned ahead once more.

Another concern of his was mako.

Systemically, he was running low, and he’d been running low to begin with. Injections were usually administered every three to four months and they were now running up to that point with a dangerousness that was leaving him slightly weak in the knees. When he’d been suspended, his dosage had been cut to the bare minimum but he’d gotten a loading dose upon his reinstatement and now his reserves were on fumes. If he didn’t get any soon, Genesis was going to have some serious problems. Already, the signs of initial withdrawal were creeping up on him. That telltale weakness...a sense of fuzzy somewhat dissociative mental state and an itchy, crawling feeling that accosted him at random intervals that he couldn’t shake. He hadn’t gone without mako since he’d made it to THIRD and he’d only been close to withdrawal once before. Realistically, they could stop and draw some from the Lifestream but they didn’t have anything to filter it with and it was dangerous to go anywhere near the reactors. At the same time, if the didn’t get any and he went into full detox there was a very good possibility he was going to die or lose most of his cognitive functions.

Swallowing, Genesis watched as Sephiroth rubbed a distracted palm over his abdomen...eyes tightening in obvious discomfort.

He didn’t know how to tell the younger man that he needed to leave to go and try to save his own sorry ass without making it sound like he was leaving the younger man behind. And there was a part of him that was afraid to leave his partner because...well...Sephiroth could easily go into labor while he was gone...very easily. There was the blank and aching truth that the younger man’s physicality was not the same as that of a woman, which meant there were aspects of all of this that weren’t set in stone. And he was thinking about it too much...going over it too much in his head because Genesis knew that Sephiroth would want him to live but he was apparently too much of a pussy to say _‘hey, I’m dying over here. You mind sitting on a rock for a day while I go shoot up the souls of dead people so I can be around when you push our baby out of your body?’_ It was a weird way to look at it, admittedly. The fact that he was essentially an addict in terms of spectral ectoplasm or whatever. But he’d never been one to take much stock in the dead, and while the Planet was well and good he just did not give a shit about that when it came to choosing between being there for his partner or dying a slow and agonizing death of mako withdrawal.

“Gen.”

Blinking, the redhead returned his gaze to his partner. Assumably, they had weaned Sephiroth off of it because there was no way a baby was going to survive regular mako injections in utero. It just wasn’t done. He was a little shocked that his lover remained-overall-unaffected by it...but then again he wasn’t shocked because his lover was the progeny of an alien from outer space so of course his bells and whistles were going to be _au natural._ And, sure, he was too, but something was done right with Sephiroth that wasn’t done right with him and he was kind of glad about it because there was a good possibility they would both be pregnant at this point and hell would that be _awful._ He didn’t think that he could handle that without razing half the continent to the ground on a periodical basis throughout. Genesis and pregnancy was basically like teaching a lion how to use an automatic and putting it in a room of blind and deaf people who were extremely fit. Just...a shitshow. A bloodbath. And maybe it would have somewhat nice results of him being cute and fat but that was just about fucking it. Oh, and a baby but he was fairly sure any child he bore would be so loud and obnoxious they’d end up fighting until he or she turned eighteen.

_“Gen!”_

Why was his name abbreviated to _‘Gen’_ so often anyway? ‘Gen’ thought grumpily, sighing huffily as Sephiroth fixed him with a weary kind of look he usually reserved for when he was throwing a temper tantrum. And he was...a little bit. Because shit had just gotten really hard and unlike in the past he couldn’t unload his rage by dueling with the individual in front of him. He was-fairly-sure that if he asked the silver-haired man would spar with him and probably kick his ass regardless but he just couldn’t do that to his dignity. He would never live that down as long as he lived.

“Yeah?” he replied, a little more sharply than he intended. The former General raised a silver brow.

“You’ve been standing there for approximately fifteen minutes looking like you’re trying to find out the meaning of life” was the dry comment.

“Maybe I am” the redhead groused, moving forward to draw level with his partner. Cerise lips curved upward in a somewhat indulgent smile.

“...Anything enlightening?”

“Yes,” the blue-eyed ex-soldier huffed. “This is crazy.”

Sephiroth appeared to consider his statement before a long-fingered hand came up to grasp his chin...pulling his focus to the silver-haired man’s visage. Green eyes made a gentle study of his face before a warm mouth was briefly pressed against his own. When he pulled back, the younger man cocked his head.

“Is anything we do ever remotely in the area of ‘sane?’” he murmured.

Against his will, Genesis grinned.

“Nope. Not really” he chuckled. Glancing at the deer trail, he sighed. “Let’s...let’s go.”

That emerald gaze held him still, and the former Commander acknowledged that he was going to give himself away if they remained as such for much longer.

“You can talk to me,” Sephiroth said hesitantly. “About anything.”

And Genesis felt guilty because no, he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell his lover that he needed mako because it would worry him and Gaia knew they had enough to worry about. Maybe when they’d found another place he could go and do what he needed to do, but for now, his focus required him to be here, now. Lowering his eyes, he leaned forward until he could nudge his forehead against the younger man’s...till the swollen curvature of their child prevented them from moving any closer to each other.

“Thank you” he murmured, kissing a furrowed brow. “But I’m alright, really.”

Sephiroth’s expression told him that he wasn’t entirely convinced, but he thankfully didn’t press the issue. Instead, he let the redhead lead them into the forest...let the trees close around them as the scent of the conifers became heavily apparent. They didn’t talk much, kept their discussion to a minimum as they moved among towering trunks and mossy roots. Here, the air was slightly warmer just because of the overall closeness of everything, but the sense of chill was still there. The ground was-thankfully-mostly even and their progress was unhindered by steep inclines or breathless declinations. Outside of the mountain range, the topography was fairly straightforward. This made it hard to garner any particular sense of direction but Genesis could only guess that they were fairly far North at this point...they had been fairly far even when they’d been in Saluberhafen and that wouldn’t change if they continued as they were. Topographically, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure where exactly they were only that at some point they were going to run into the sea.

They stopped once or twice to eat or to gather their bearings. For the most part, they were alone, save for a herd of wandering deer and a lone fox who watched them suspiciously from the hollow of a log before darting away. There were signs of other wildlife; the skitter of mice...the chirp of crickets and the hoot of a disgruntled owl when they passed under its tree...but otherwise it was quiet. There was indeed a river perhaps an hour outside of the settlement and they stopped to fill their canteens with water before moving on.

“Something occurred to me” Genesis muttered idly as they sat on a mossy boulder chewing on wrapped sandwiches. Sephiroth paused, halfway to taking a bite before he put his meal down and raised an expectant eyebrow. “Eat” the redhead continued, waving a hand. “I’m just talking out of my ass but...we share the same cells, right? So why doesn’t Jenova try to control me?”

His partner appeared to consider the question as he ate, those beryl eyes thoughtful.

“The method of cellular administration with you was different” he finally replied, the timbre of his voice coloring the air. “I’m assuming it has to do with DNA, with how the separate strands combine with each other. And you’re half Cetra, so that could have been a component as well. Which leaves Angeal, I suppose. His project was a success, but it was a success in the sense of total cohesion.”

“Don’t get me wrong” Genesis said dryly, crumbling a scrap of brown paper wrapping in one hand and holding his sandwich with the other. “I’m fucking thrilled she thinks I’m not worth it...or that she can’t make me worth it. It’s just interesting how small differences can change something so large.”

His lover leveled him with a wry look.

“Being a Cetra isn’t a ‘small difference’” he deadpanned, throwing his hair over one shoulder and taking another bite.

The former Commander relented somewhat.

“Okay, maybe it’s not. But it still doesn’t explain Angeal.”

A shrug, the younger man’s jacket shuffling as he did so...emerald irises distant.

“Maybe he just has more mental fortitude” he muttered, lifting his thumb to swipe at some mayonnaise on his lower lip before giving up and hunting for a cloth. “I can’t really see Hewley burning a city to the ground, can you?”

Genesis squinted hard and attempted to utilize his creative outlook.

He failed.

“No” the scarlet-haired ex-first replied breezily, reaching for his canteen. “I suppose I can’t.” A pause. “But I can’t really say I could see you doing it either before you did.”

Again, his lover treated him with a thoroughly unimpressed expression, tucking the cloth back into the duffel bag as he did so. Genesis huffed before folding his arms and leaning back on the boulder, reaching upwards to pluck at an overlying hemlock bough.

“Alright, so _maybe_ I was under the impression that you were a ticking time bomb but that still doesn’t mean I think you’re tail over tea kettle.”

Sephiroth grimaced.

“Fair enough.”

“For the record” the former Commander groaned, standing up. “I don’t think _anyone_ should have to suffer someone taking over their brain, but it was something that was on my mind.” The younger man made a soft noise of assent and he raised a hand to shield his eyes against the sun as he looked up at the sky. “It’s past noon, we should head out.”

And so it went.

They made good time overall. By the time dusk was falling they’d reached another populated area, but this one was larger...much larger. Standing on the perimeter of a byway into the town, Genesis frowned. He could remember vaguely that Shinra had talked about constructing stable housing for the displaced populace after Sephiroth’s...carnage. He just had a hard time wrapping his mind around the concept of the fact that it had been accomplished so fast. By his estimate, the borough in front of them could house several thousand people. Then again, when you had pockets as deep as Shinra did and were liable for causing the destruction of a major farming community he supposed life was pretty straightforward.

“...Cadet Fair?”

The redhead stiffened, whipped around...felt the breeze pass over his face as he did so. His blood ran cold when he took in the sight before him. Sephiroth was standing just behind him with his hands raised...his face unreadable. Before him...a SOLDIER in full uniform was standing before his lover with his gun cocked at the ready...mako-blue eyes blazing with something that seemed to be one part grief, one part determination, and another part apprehension. It was indeed Zack...but it wasn’t Zack. Zackary Fair wouldn’t be pointing an automatic rifle at his formal General, Zackary Fair wouldn’t be looking at Sephiroth like he was the last hope in a bleak, cruel world and he intended to mete out that hope to the fullest, most heinous degree. It took Genesis a moment to acknowledge that Angeal wasn’t with him...and that something was terribly wrong. And the shotgun was in the bag covered in layers of clothes...he didn’t have a weapon...didn’t have anything but his bare hands and his logic and a part of him despaired. The barrel of the gun whipped around to him when it became clear that the silver-haired man wasn’t a threat….but that didn’t help matters. The uniformed figure slunk closer even as the redhead coiled in preparation to strike...even if it was to distract...to let his partner get away.

“The fuck are you doing Cadet?” Genesis barked, and something in those blue eyes flinched but quickly recovered.

“I have orders” was the rough response...somewhat unsteady. “And they have Angeal….”

“...I’m going to need you to come with me.”


	14. Chapter 14

He went for Fair because he didn’t have a choice.

Sitting in the back of a pickup truck with snow starting to filter down upon him, Sephiroth bitterly reflected that he’d done what he could. Everything about his physicality was an aching blaze of fiery pain but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. There was no question in terms of whether or not he was going to try to protect Genesis...he was going to do it. He chose to forgo and usurp the limitations of his body because otherwise they were both going to get captured and he was not going to go back in a cell. At this point, his autonomy was too valuable for him to throw it away. That and the fact that he absolutely could not do this without his former comrade and there was a good possibility that his capture would end in his immediate execution. They had both worked far too hard and gone to great lengths to ensure their longevity and disregarding it in favor of his safety seemed frivolous. 

That wasn’t to say the alternative was less frivolous. 

Subduing Zack while trying to keep parts of his physicality from sustaining serious injury via impact was harder than he’d thought. That wasn’t to say it was exactly a monumental effort, but it wasn’t effort _less_ like it used to be. He had to twist himself at a weird angle to finagle the headlock and if he’d been allowed to snap the dark-haired FIRST’s neck right then and there the issue would have been nil. He was listening to the tendons stretch to near-breaking when Genesis yelled for him to stop; he hesitated, and he’d gotten a blow to the face...with the butt of an automatic. It was-shockingly-the first time he’d ever gotten hit anywhere in the vicinity of his nose with something so heavy and the amount of blood pouring from it had momentarily rendered him stupid. Thankfully, it seemed like the fact he’d been able to land a blow of any type on the Great General Sephiroth had stymied Fair into lowered-intelligence levels as well. By the time they both recovered Genesis was already moving. 

This would have been the end if said redhead had informed his partner he was suffering from mako withdrawals. 

Zack hit the dirt with fairly little encouragement, but he didn’t stay there. The former General’s companion executed a double-leg takedown that likely would have held if his strength wasn’t significantly diminished. As ill-fate would have it; Angeal’s protegee kneed him in the groin. Genesis went so white that Sephiroth actually felt sympathetic and then promptly hooked Fair in the jaw so hard his head snapped back. This was fine because the silver-haired man was able to get on his knees and grab the younger man’s arms so he could pull them above his head. It wasn’t exactly a proper restraint-was likely extremely painful-but they were essentially working on impulse and neither of them were feeling kind. The gun was apprehended and he had the sincere pleasure of watching his partner rise to his knees to place it directly between Zack’s eyes and snarl something about his manhood that he couldn’t understand but appreciated nevertheless. 

Needless to say, Fair surrendered.

This led to a lengthy argument between former General and Commander regarding what they were going to do with him. It eventually escalated into a shouting match in which both of them were pointing fingers at the other and neither of them were getting anywhere. Genesis blamed him for not paying attention, Sephiroth blamed _him_ for taking them into a populated area and so on until it had devolved into an argument regarding who snored the loudest and who hogged the bed sheets until Zack promptly burst into tears and begged them to stop because _’Geal was in trouble’_ and _’didn’t they care at all?’_. This-at the very least-sobered them enough to ask about what had happened to his partner’s childhood friend. Haltingly, the youngest of the three divulged the circumstances in wake of their absence, and with each word he spoke Sephiroth felt his spirits sink lower and lower. 

Hewley was-as they had suspected-apprehended. 

A bit tearfully, Zack informed them that he hadn’t even made it to the sewers before he’d been arrested. Angeal had-of course-gone peacefully and quietly but it didn’t change the cruelty with which they had treated him or the gravity of his sentence. His apartment had been bugged, that much was clear. When Genesis had come to inform him of his decision to defect, his fate was sealed because he didn’t arrest him or disagree with meeting him. Thankfully, the branch of Intelligence that monitored that particular feed didn’t come in until 1030; well past the time when the redhead had left Outfitting and made his way to the Science Division. Unfortunately for Angeal, this meant that he’d been caught on camera fraternizing with a wanted war criminal in an attempt to release a wanted war criminal. The specifics of it were irrelevant, as were his motivations. As far as Shinra was considered, Angeal was a traitor. 

Zack only heard about Genesis’ defection when he went to check on him in the morning and he was gone. Lazard had called him up to his office mere minutes after they’d broken through the windows of the President’s Suite to promote him to FIRST and to inform him of the circumstances behind his promotion. He’d been sternly informed that any sympathies towards his former mentor would not be tolerated, but he pushed for his release anyway. By his knowledge, the dark-haired ex-First was in a hold somewhere in HQ, but he didn’t know if he was still there and the details regarding his incarceration were hazy at best. Despite his overall enthusiasm in the field, Fair was no tactician. He admitted-bitterly-of asking the wrong questions to the wrong people. Scarlet was unsympathetic, almost triumphant, really, and Lazard was too weary and too disheartened by the corruption around him to take action. Instead, Administration called him up for a Board meeting in which he was informed that the only way Hewley would ever see the light of day again was if he managed to catch their wanted ‘insurgents.’ 

It didn’t take a scientist to figure out that Zack looked at Angeal like a father.

Truthfully, Sephiroth was surprised that he hadn’t noticed it sooner. And it made sense when he squinted his eyes and looked at in a way that was personable. Angeal was Fair’s mentor and had been for a very long time. They’d spent considerable amounts of time together on missions and the older man never failed to put his trainee above many, many things. Zack had learned everything he knew from the blue-eyed FIRST, of course, he was going to idolize him. Angeal had instilled in Zack a sympathy for those lesser than him, benevolence for people who might otherwise be seen as callous and cruel, and a deeply ingrained sense of honor and duty. When such idolism had turned into familial love, he didn’t know. But the fear in the younger man’s eyes was so palatable he could nearly feel it. He sympathized because he knew what Shinra was capable of; what they were willing to do to keep their men in line. It was hard, however, to overlook the fact that it was Zack who had ordered his men to storm the farmstead...and it was hard to overlook the fact that it was Zack who had pointed a loaded automatic at him with no disregard for his livelihood. 

At some point, Genesis had cut in to ask about Aerith.

In terms of her well being, there didn’t seem to be anything adverse going on there. It brought him up short a little bit because if Shinra had _really_ wanted to hurt Zack, they’d have gone for her. Sephiroth met his lover’s eyes and understood. Aerith might be a good weapon to use against Fair, but she was an _excellent_ weapon to use against Genesis. As his only sibling, her value was so high he was surprised they hadn’t seized her and thrown her into a cell yet. If there was anything that was going to make the redhead storm Shinra’s gates, it was going to be his sister. The former Commander would stop at absolutely nothing to get to her, and the hard look in those azure irises told him he was equally frantic about her...perhaps more than he was about Angeal. It made him feel guilty because the older man had left so many valuable things behind to take care of him. He didn’t feel like he had the right to expect so much from someone who had already nearly given his life for a cause that was so evil. 

They had to compromise.

Zack was somewhat more inclined to listen to reason when they explained that they intended to return to HQ once Sephiroth wasn’t carrying a living, soon-to-be-breathing individual around inside of him. Neither of them trusted the younger man very much, but they didn’t have the heart to kill him either, so they talked him around until they were fairly confident he wasn’t going to shoot them when they let him up. In the end, Fair offered to take them North as a kind of apology for his actions. It was clear that he was still conflicted over Angeal, but the fact that they intended to rescue him seemed to bolster his spirits. At one point, he offered to come along, but they refused vehemently. Zack might be a physical asset in their journeys, but he was also another person to look after and another mouth to feed and he didn’t have half as much field experience. This led to the mentioning of Genesis clearly withdrawing from mako and Sephiroth had nearly lost his head because he didn’t know what the redhead was _thinking._ They had another thirty minute, drawn-out shouting match about it that ended up with both of them nearly in tears and Zack proffering up some vials that should have ended the issue but didn’t make him feel any better. The blue-eyed FIRST offered them a ride in a company issued truck and Sephiroth had to sit in the back because he didn’t fit in the front-rather, his stomach didn’t-and this made him so furious he hadn’t spoken for perhaps two hours. A bump and a curse from up front jolted him from his thoughts and he watched as Genesis jerked the wheel to avoid another pothole. 

“He was a wreck, y’know.”

Blinking, Sephiroth focused directly ahead, where Fair was sitting holding a bloody handkerchief. His nose had long before stopped bleeding but none of them wanted to risk leaving anything behind. _Why_ Zack had felt the need to sit in the back with him he had no idea but he was too humiliated to question Angeal’s protegee’s methods and too angry to do anything to really deter him. When the silver-haired man just raised an eyebrow, his companion sighed and shook his head.

“When you were locked up” he clarified. When the former General opened his mouth to tell him to be quiet, he grimaced. “I know you don’t really want to hear it, but he was completely beside himself. Took him months to leave his apartment.” 

“I couldn’t do anything about it” Sephiroth replied bitterly.

“Yeah, but he...he wanted to get to you so badly, but we didn’t know where you were. Bought a ton of baby books and all that jazz.” When the green-eyed ex-soldier looked somewhat surprised, Zack cracked a grin. “What, you didn’t know? He bought so many books on pregnancy that you couldn’t get in his front door without kicking over a stack of them. I think he read them all twice.” Sephiroth immediately wanted to cry and then immediately wanted to kill himself. Some of his mortality-related conflict must have shown on his face because Fair reached out before apparently thinking better of it, clasping his hands together around reddened fabric. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that I was assigned to him, and I know how difficult it was for him a little bit. He loves you a lot.” The younger man seemed to realize who he was talking to at that point because he flushed. “Sir” he added hastily. “Uh, I think.”

Against his will, the silver-haired ex-soldier felt himself smirk.

“I hardly think I qualify as a SOLDIER anymore, Cadet.”

“Not a Cadet anymore,” Zack said mildly, leaning back. “But I’m still used to calling you _’sir’_. That’s not gonna change just because you’re…” he appeared to catch himself, struggled a little bit before apparently blurting out the first thing that came to his mind. “...Rounder than you used to be.” Blue eyes widened fractionally. “I mean, you know, in the stomach area, that’s all.” When Sephiroth remained silent, he floundered. “Well it’s not like you don’t have a right to be!” he spluttered. “I mean what do I know about babies and all that?! If Aerith had a baby I think I’d faint. I think I’d collapse and be a terribly confused father and you’re going to be a great Dad and I’m sure the weight will all come off-”

“-Fair!” Sephiroth barked. The man in question groaned and covered his face. “For your own safety, I suggest you stop talking.” 

“Yes, sir” was the miserable reply. “I’m sorry sir.”

There was a brief stretch of time-space in which Sephiroth considered his expanding physicality. It wasn’t like he was comfortable at this point in any way, shape, or form. He didn’t sleep well, his back was constantly hurting and he felt overall stretched and extremely unshapely. And he’d never used the word _shapely_ to describe himself before but there was a first time for everything. He would-he reflected grimly-sincerely enjoy being in control of his own body again. He would also enjoy putting a shirt on without feeling like it was going to slip upwards and expose him at any given moment. He was equally uncomfortable with the fact that Genesis seemed to find it glorious and appealing. Humiliating sex drive aside he couldn’t imagine that it was easy to have sex with someone with what felt like the abdominal circumference of a hippopotamus. This particular vein of thought didn’t stop his redheaded paramour, however, because he was perfectly content to have relations with him wherever and wherever and sometimes Sephiroth simply felt like having sex because he was so grateful for how much he was getting and that was extremely confusing.

“We went to Junon.” 

Idly, Sephiroth wondered if it was possible for someone to be verbally suicidal. Because Fair was not good at knowing when it was time to be quiet. Leveling an unimpressed look at his former subordinate, he crossed his arms over his stomach. 

“Fort Condor” Zack continued in a quiet voice, seemingly oblivious. “Standard repairs after...well...you know. Shinra covering liable assets and all that shit, waste of time if you ask me. There was a girl...she wandered into the contamination zone and succumbed to the fumes-”

“-Why are you telling me this?” the older man snapped, trying to ignore the pang in his chest. 

“Because Genesis saw her” Fair replied dully. “And she had green eyes.” Sephiroth tried to quell the emotionalism that rose in his chest. “Never seen him like that before...just...hopeless. Sick, really...literally. Threw up everywhere, couldn’t focus. Looked like a man with PTSD.” 

There was a stretch of wordless time-space and the former General struggled with himself. 

“I’ll repeat,” he said through gritted teeth. _”Why_ are you telling me this??”

Angeal’s protegee shrugged.

“‘Cause you seem pretty bent out of shape over the fact that he came with you, over the fact that he broke you out at all and left so much behind. But he...he was horrible without you. And heck if I know much about love...I’m just a kid really. Genesis...he values you more than that, y’know? He sees you and he sees everything he wants wrapped up in one person.” Sephiroth’s chest suddenly felt extremely tight, Zack smiled. “I think that’s pretty great, yeah? And he left all that stuff behind...people because he loves you _more_...not because he had to choose. It wasn’t a choice for him really.” A grimace. “I’m sorry I hit you, I’m just kinda desperate. But you guys are desperate too. And you shouldn’t be so hard on him about the mako, he was just thinking about you.” 

He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop the truck,” he said in a low voice. 

Zack looked at him incredulously and opened his mouth but Sephiroth was faster.

_”Stop the truck!”_ he roared.

Genesis stopped the truck.

Really he threw the truck into park and it was a miracle they didn’t knock themselves out on the panels. By the time the redhead had made it out to the bed the silver-haired ex-First was storming off into a copse of snow-colored trees and he could hear the older man hollering at Zack. It was something along the lines of _’is he in labor?!’_ and when the younger man answered in the negative; _’what the hell did you say to him?!’_ and; _’when I come back I’m going to thrash you so hard you’re not going to remember your mother’s name!’_. Ignoring it, he sequestered himself behind a rather fluffy fir tree and attempted to calm himself. Realistically, he knew he was loved. He also cherished the fact he was loved, but the degree of it was always a little bit staggering to him. Coupled with his raging hormones and somewhat debilitating exhaustion it was taking everything he had not to be an emotional wreck every single day. And Genesis was so _patient_ with him, and he wasn’t used to such patience coming from his partner and sometimes it made him feel like an inconvenience...like a burden. And he’d told Genesis that he had ugly feet a few hours ago and he felt _terrible_ because his feet were perfect and that was the stupidest thing he’d ever thought and-

“-Seph…?” 

Like being pulled from deep water, like being caught seconds before a fall, like breathing that first breath after minutes spent being suffocated like an adversary. The adrenaline that had been gathering in his medulla abruptly had nowhere to go...nowhere to sink its claws. And it was a _different_ adrenaline than what he was used to...unlike that of battle or bloodshed. It was hysterical, borne from something he hadn’t been able to consent to, something he hadn’t been able to control. And he didn’t know how to handle this...but Genesis was always there when he fell apart and he felt _guilty_ , so guilty. Moreso he hated himself for feeling guilty because it was something he’d been taught to dismiss...to push down. He hated Zack a little bit for bringing it to the forefront, for making it something he couldn’t emotionally avoid anymore. Because he wasn’t _weak_ but he was _weaker_ and despite the difference in his physicality he was still a man. And this...this _condition_...it was emasculating. It was emasculating and terrifying and beautiful and nothing he’d ever wanted to experience. 

_”Seph._

A little like velvet on fire...a little like dying and coming to life and he didn’t know what he’d done in his life before Genesis anymore. And that was frightening because he didn’t know when he’d come to rely on someone so much. So when he crushed the older man to him it wasn’t that he was seeking anything, he was trying to _give_ but it didn’t feel like _enough._ And the redhead stiffened before reciprocating the gesture...confused but willing and sometimes he wished he’d just punch him so they could have an even playing field. Realistically, he knew it wasn’t rational because he had given he just couldn’t put his emotionalism in tangency with reality anymore and it was an ugly thing. 

“I love you” he muttered.

Hesitant, long-fingered hands came up to card through his hair. Slender...deceptively slender yet strong and calloused. And the kiss pressed on his brow was a little dry but it didn’t really matter because those lips were familiar. 

“I love you too” was the slightly exasperated reply. “But Sephiroth, I can’t wait ‘till you have this baby because it’s making you crazy.”

Against his will, the younger man choked out a laugh.

“I know.” 

A pause, and he was distinctly aware of the silence the snow created around them. It was like being muffled in their own sect of existence. Despite the fact that it was cold, it was still theirs. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the mako.”

Slowly, the former General shook his head.

“Your intentions were honest” he replied flatly. “If a little misconstrued.”

“...Want to talk about it?”

Drawing back, Sephiroth made a study of Genesis’ face...of the defined slope of his jaw, the blue of his eyes, and the very light smattering of freckles over his nose. He acknowledged-a little grudgingly-that maybe his fear of this came from the fact that it wouldn’t be the two of them anymore...that he was going to have to learn how to share this and he wasn’t sure that he knew how. That wasn’t to say he didn’t _want_ their daughter, he just didn’t want things to change. But his viewpoint of Shinra had changed...his vow to never give over to emotionalism had changed….his _body_ was changing and no matter how hard he resisted it, it was still happening. And he wanted to turn back time...wanted to find the Goddess Materia sooner so they’d have had more time...so they could learn each other properly...wanted to see the world and know what it was like to have someone that was solely his because he’d voluntarily chosen it...but there was nothing for it. A hand came down to cup his middle, to thumb over his navel before cradling the lower curve and he hated and loved how intimate the gesture was. It was a shivering thing...suspended whilst glittering and dripping and finite. Genesis exhaled patiently, let himself nose over the hollow of the silver-haired man’s throat...breath fogging in the chilly air. Tilting his head back, the younger man forced himself to settle. He couldn’t change what was before...there was only now.

“No,” he said firmly.

Genesis smiled...and it was understanding...and a little bit grateful.

And so it was that the former Commander led them back to the truck and forced Fair to sit in the passenger’s seat. Sephiroth let himself stretch out in the bed in one of the sleeping bags they’d brought along...watching as the stars came to life above him. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was peaceful. They’d had so little of peace, and it was a little odd that he was able to find it in the back of a vehicle while it roared along winter roads...but it was still a present thing. Something cold filled with effervescent warmth...like the snow around them. And if he heard his lover mutter something along the lines of _’maybe I won’t kill you this time, Cadet’_ he ignored it. Instead, he watched the cosmos explode over them in a kaleidoscope of color and wished for something better. It occurred to him that he’d never wished for anything while staring at the sky...but he didn’t let himself get bent out of shape over it…...there was a first time for everything. Even if such firsts should signal the end of all befores…

...it was still a beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Sorry it's been so long. This chapter didn't want to go but today I was able to get it up and running. Thanks for reading!**
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> **R &R**  
> 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some say the world will end in fire,  
> Some say in ice.  
> From what I’ve tasted of desire  
> I hold with those who favor fire.  
> But if it had to perish twice,  
> I think I know enough of hate  
> To say that for destruction ice  
> Is also great  
> And would suffice.  
> -Robert Frost

Zack dropped them off somewhere discreet.

It wasn't particularly discreet, because Shinra monitored the truck via a tracking device and he had to make it look like he was en route somewhere with a purpose. So, really, Zack dropped them off next to the road on the way to Icicle Inn and kept going as quickly as he could while still trying to be polite about it. They didn’t put any specific time aside to meet, but the dark-haired SOLDIER gave them his cell phone number and begged them to call him once Sephiroth had given birth and they were comfortable with their new roles as parents. This would be difficult considering that neither of them had cell phones, but he decided not to mention that. Genesis was grateful to Fair because he’d cut some time off of their trek to nowhere in particular and because his partner had gotten a chance to sleep for a while without having to do it with one eye open. Watching as the company-issued vehicle disappeared down the road in a slur of dust and slush...he couldn’t help but feel a little dejected.

They were alone again.

Realistically, he supposed he wouldn’t feel so anxious if their circumstances were different. It wasn’t like he _hated_ Sephiroth’s company. There was just a part of his mind that knew that this wasn’t an idea situation for someone who was about to give birth. And he somewhat regretted reading all those baby books now, because the majority of them stated that at this point they should have a crib and a rocker, bottles and baby clothes, a named picked out and some type of contingency plan for when it was time to go the hospital. They didn’t even have a fucking house and it was killing him slowly. Because the father in him whispered that he should be providing, that he should be giving _something_ in this situation other than long, tiring treks through bleak wilderness but he had nothing to offer. Genesis also knew that the former General didn’t blame him, and he tried to keep his perspective on an even footing. They were both men who were capable of handling themselves, and he didn’t want to degrade his partner’s self-perception further by making him think that he saw him as helpless. Sephiroth’s self-esteem was in the gutter as it was-though he tried very hard not to show it-and if he thought that the older man was trying to pander to him in the face of their trials nothing good would come of it.

There was a part of him that was waiting for his lover to declare that he was done.

Eventually they would have to stop because the silver-haired former FIRST’s body simply couldn’t handle their pace anymore. Genesis didn’t know what they would do then, but their window of opportunity was growing smaller and smaller. Sephiroth was in excellent shape, and he took care of himself-which he supposed was more than some could say in their third trimester-but the level to which he maintained his upkeep was also out of necessity. Even if he wanted to, the younger man couldn’t slow down-probably didn’t know how-and if Genesis thought about it too long he wanted to throw himself off of a cliff. There were mornings when the younger man would open his eyes and look so tired that it seemed like he was going to melt into a puddle. And watching him go through the motions, watching him rise from the bed-or the bedroll, depending where they were at the time-was so painful it was nearly a physical thing. Because that steadfast, plodding determination that so endeared him to the General would only get him so far, and in pregnancy such constant forward motion could cost them the life of their child and the life of the individual carrying her.

But they couldn’t stop.

Bent over their makeshift fire with a bundle of semi-dry wood, Genesis made a strangled noise before continuing his task. Knowing about Angeal didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, it compounded his sense of guilt until he felt like he was suffocating. He could have just gone… _just gone_ to Outfitting and they would very likely still be here and his best friend wouldn’t be suffering for it. But he had to be stupid...he had to go and tell the dark-haired FIRST that they were leaving...had to bring him in on such a terrible, deadly secret and implicate him along with them. And he was sure that Angeal would have come with them, that he would have left Shinra behind and helped him do whatever he asked just because he was so fucking sweet and honorable and kind. He could have asked him to come down to the Science Division with them but that would have drawn attention, he could have asked him to leave ahead of them and set up base while he was trying to break Sephiroth out. But no, he’d asked for a rendezvous; had employed the most basic, shitty, regulation-oriented SOLDIER tactic in the whole world and thrown his childhood friend under the bus in order to do it.

The amount of self-hate that came with that understanding was crippling.

He couldn’t imagine Angeal in a cell, couldn’t imagine him sitting there in the dark wondering what had become of them...what had become of him. It was hard for him to be angry at Zack for his desperation because he was equally desperate. Moreover, he was _guilty_. And even if it was guilt by accidental proxy it didn’t soften anything, didn’t make it easier to bear. Genesis knew-instinctively-that the blue-eyed SOLDIER wouldn’t blame them, that he’d have spent his time imprisoned fretting over them and fretting over their child. That just made it worse. Made it something that kept him up at night grinding his teeth and staring at the stars with wide, hysterical eyes. Because so many people should not have to _suffer_ for peace. For their peace. And the essentiality of it, the urgency of it didn’t matter because this was not Angeal’s battle and he had never wanted it to be. And he knew that despite all of his misgivings his good-hearted friend would fight for him whether he liked it or not-had _always_ fought for him whether he liked it or not. But he couldn’t fix it.

_He **despised** that._

Zack had supplied him with four vials of mako. Those he could spread out, and they would last him about a year but he didn’t like it. He’d intended to make a mess of a nearby reactor, had intended to mete out his frustration and rage on a site of carnage and destruction for the sake of industry. Now, he didn’t have that outlet. It was easier to deal with his guilt when the inevitability of his death was breathing down his neck, but now that threat was absent. He didn’t know what was worse; the fact that he’d nearly died because of an addiction imposed by a company that enslaved its men, or the fact that he’d intended to use that addiction to be some sort of junkie harbinger of doom. There was also the part of him that didn’t want to be reliant on mako at all; that wanted to be able to get off it simply because of the manner in which it was utilized. He wasn’t an environmentalist; the well-being of the Planet had never really concerned him. But he didn’t like relying on something that could potentially kill him in its absence. As a recruit, he’d never considered what signing up for such injections entailed. He’d seen it as a rite of ascension, not a contract into slavery. Later, when he was nearing his promotion to FIRST he’d written it off because he was too busy fighting with Sephiroth and slaughtering innocents on orders. Looking back, he felt distinctly idiotic.

And how did you explain that to a child?

Growling, Genesis threw the kindling down onto the flames with a little more force than was necessary. This forced him to jump back when the fire flared, nearly stumbling over his bedroll as he did so. Righting himself, the redhead sat down hard and put his head in his hands. _’Your Daddies killed a lot of people because they had to.’_ The former Commander snorted. That sounded terrible even as a half-formulated concept. _’Your Daddy comes from an Ancient race of enlightened humanoids, and your other Daddy is the genetic product of an alien from outer space that wiped out almost all of those enlightened humanoids.’_ Dropping his hands, the redhead acknowledged that this wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Feasibly, if he discussed this with Sephiroth he might have better responses but their daughter wouldn’t be asking such questions for at least a year and a half after her birth. He also deeply suspected that bringing up such subjects would throw Sephiroth into hysterics and he seriously wanted to avoid that.

Glancing upwards, the redhead considered the mountain range before him. They were headed towards it, mostly because there was a cave up there that he’d had his eyes on for several days. Primarily at night, due to the greenish luminescence that was coming from inside. He didn’t sense any sort of threat from it, and they needed someplace to settle down for a week or so to gather their bearings outside of the elements. It wasn’t ideal, and it certainly wasn’t a man-made structure with electricity or heated plumbing but it was still shelter. Unlike some of the hollows dotting the range before them, this one was lower in altitude. The hike was still significant and he was kind of ferociously concerned about that but Sephiroth had caught onto his focus and now he didn’t have a choice. His partner was just as eager to stop and rest somewhere covered as he was and the idea of a rough hike in order to get there was apparently not enough to deter his lover.

Scrubbing his hands through his hair, the redhead idly reflected that he needed to get it cut. He was-somewhat vainly-fairly scrupulous about its length and right now it was driving him to distraction. Sephiroth had no evident qualms about his own follicle upkeep, though the former General’s hair never seemed to grow past a certain length and he’d often wondered if the younger man had some sort of neurological control over that. He didn’t ask because he didn’t want the younger man to think that he was focusing on what the green-eyed FIRST would see as another facet of his strangeness, so he was left to wonder over his lover’s hair in a kind of contemplative but tactical silence. The man in question was still sleeping next to him in their shared bedroll but he knew it wouldn’t be long before he woke. His companion never slept much past dawn out of habituality and he was so uncomfortable at this point that any sleep he could get was fleeting and broken. Lowering his palms, Genesis sighed and forced himself to think about food. They had a lot left, and it wasn’t a concern at this point but he couldn’t help worrying about it. Just as he was about to get up to rummage through the duffel bag, the blankets next to him moved. Watching out of the corner of his eye, the redhead observed surreptitiously as his former comrade made a quiet noise of discontent before levering himself into a sitting position. Green irises focused upon him, and the older man smiled crookedly in response.

“Hey.”

Sephiroth grunted something inglorious in response but he didn’t let it bother him. At this point, he knew the younger man wasn’t a morning person. Add to that being heavily pregnant with very little sleep and it was a miracle he hadn’t been decapitated just for existing within the same proximity. Resuming his food-related course, Genesis left the former General to wake up on his own. He knew from previous experience that the silver-haired ex-FIRST would spend several minutes staring grumpily into space. Coming up with a bottle of water and something that looked like porridge, he occupied himself with the aforementioned. Never in his entire life had he ever thought he’d learn how to cook something over an open flame but there was a first time for everything and the first time he’d tried it he’d nearly started a forest fire. The only thing that had stopped the trees from catching was the snow and he was sincerely grateful for it. Granted, he _didn’t_ like that it was snowing so early in the year but this far North and you had to take what you could get and for now he was happy that at least they hadn’t gotten caught in a blizzard.

Yet. The key concept there was _yet_.

Throwing some sugar into the collapsible saucepan, Genesis watched as Sephiroth rolled his shoulders and blinked in swift succession. At this point, he might have offered coffee, and he would have if they were back in HQ and his partner wasn’t carrying his child. He’d refused Mati’s offer of instant coffee simply because he didn’t want his silver-haired companion to suffer him slurping it down in front of him every morning so he made do with black tea every so often and tried to think positively despite the lack of caffeine. When the former General kicked off the coverlets and pulled his jacket on before rising to make his way into the trees-presumably to answer nature’s call-the redhead reverted his focus back to the mountain range while trying to make their breakfast have some semblance of taste. There wasn’t-so he had found-any right or wrong way to cook porridge; it was just bad all around.

“I’m picking up a signature, about two miles out.”

Genesis dropped the porridge.

Sephiroth’s voice was bland, but his visage was tight with hidden anxiety. Kicking snow onto the fire, the redhead rose with undue haste and focused outside the perimeter of their encampment. It had been a long time since he’d used magic, but the basics of it came back to him fairly quickly as he tried to zero in on what his lover was talking about. Signatures of sentient or non sentient beings were based on infrared heat signals. It was a component of being injected with mako-or, in Sephiroth’s case, of being somewhat inhuman-and SOLDIERS were discouraged from using them during battle because you could easily kill someone who wasn’t an enemy if you weren’t careful but it was useful during reconnaissance. If he could compare it to anything, it was rather like having a third eye if he was anywhere near fanatically mystical in his beliefs, but he wasn’t. There was-inevitably-the impression of cold for several miles...nothing to the North except blistering gusts and towering steppes. The East and South were similar with the exception of Icicle Inn, but that was eons away and there was nothing coming towards them from that direction. West was...weird. The minute he looked, he could tell what was wrong. The West was too quiet. And it wasn’t so much a heat signature as it was an inundation of _cold_.

Snow was cold, of course, but this cold dropped abruptly from the customary blueish-white contusions of infrared straight into purple and pink. Large, _inherently large_ , with a vaguely humanoid shape in the middle that seemed to be emitting frigidity wherever it went. The air around it appeared to crackle and pop...like the oxygen molecules in it were dying a slow death...or perhaps simply turning into icicles. That was scientifically impossible but he knew better than to question the impossible at this point. And it was too tall to be remotely human. Most of the pine trees in the area could top off between fifty to a hundred feet and it had to be at least eighty. It was approaching the campsite slowly, but with each step it took the sense of stillness...of coldness seemed to grow more and more all-encompassing. Genesis was not familiar with any large monsters this close to the tundra. There were books-of course-that talked about them but he’d never encountered one personally because Shinra didn’t see fit to send their men this far North due to the lack of scattered conquerable populations.

Genesis was fairly sure this was a djinn.

The _problem_ with djinn was that they were very near to sentient, and they were territorial to the point of ridiculousness. He’d always been under the impression that they were sequestered to Round Island, but he was wrong on that front apparently. There was a world-wide edict that forbade visitors to the RI due to the dangerousness of encounter alone and the fact that one was here was frankly baffling. Djinn were very, _very_ hard to kill and he supposed he ought to be thankful that this one was likely a frost djinn because at least he was fairly masterful with its opposing element. They couldn’t reason with it, not now anyway. Before they’d breached its territory, maybe...but its signatures indicated that it was already on the offensive and trying to talk to it would only hasten their death. And he didn’t have Rapier, which would have made their combative conversation somewhat faster. He didn’t even have _materia_ he had his magical reserves and that was shit compared to the amount of magic a djinn could call upon from the Lifestream.

“Fuck” he muttered, pulling away from observing the signature to see that Sephiroth had already packed everything up. _”Fuck!_ His eyes landed on his partner, who was looking warily in the direction of their hastily approaching adversary. “You need to go.” When the younger man opened his mouth to protest, hysteria took over and Genesis was shouting. _”You need to **go**!”_

“I’m not leaving you here” Sephiroth growled. “Don’t ask me to do that.”

“You _have_ to” Genesis hissed desperately. “Seph you have to, it’s too cold for you, it’s too cold for the baby. You’ll _die._ ”

“And what about you?” Sephiroth demanded. “You’re not-” he appeared to struggle. “-You’re not any more impervious than I am.”

“I can burn a square thirty acres of this forest down by snapping my fingers” the former Commander snapped. “You can’t do that. And if you _did_ do that, the energy drain from it would have you unconscious for days. Screw that shit. Get the hell out of here.” Still, his lover didn’t move, and the sense of pervasive cold was drawing nearer and nearer. And despite the fact that his heart was breaking, he had to say what he said next...had to do everything in his power to make sure that his partner and his child made it out of this alive. “You think I want you here?!” he continued, ignoring the waver in his voice. “You’re so much trouble as it is already I don’t know what to fucking _do_ with myself half the time!” Sephiroth was abruptly pale, his features suddenly expressionless and Genesis wanted to die. “You’re just going to slow me down, stop being a pain in the ass!”

Like watching glass shatter.

It was a little like watching glass shatter, seeing the amount of self-control it took for the former General not to react to his words. And Genesis wanted to take it back...wanted to reach out and hold him, wanted to do _something_ other than this but he couldn’t. Instead, he let the derisive hate he felt for himself play out on his face...let it be the driving force behind Sephiroth stepping back. And the long fingers that reached out to take the duffel bag were trembling slightly, but his companion’s composure held. Anyone else who looked at him might have assumed that the redhead’s words had had no effect...but he knew better. Those sea green eyes were clouded with so much pain it shook him to his core. And he had to hold back plea for his lover to return when he disappeared into the trees. Something in him whispered that it was off...that the little effort it had taken for the younger man to retreat was too small...but he was too upset to consider it.

And if he sank to his knees once the sounds of Sephiroth’s egress faded, no one was there to see it. If he put his head in his hands and cried, no one heard him. No one could see him. And the bitter cold grew stronger...seeped into his bones only to be combated by the mako in his system. The wind picked up...rose to a howl and then into a gale. Snow began to hail downwards...became a near-blinding sheet of frosty nothingness. There was the sense of immense power...of observance...of ancient watchfulness followed by an even deeper hate and only then did he rise. He hadn’t taken the gun from the duffel because it would be useless in this kind of situation. Elemental creatures were impervious to firearms, it was one of the reasons SOLDIERs weren’t trained to use them first and foremost. He could fire a thousand rounds into a creature with earth-based abilities and he wouldn’t make a dent. Realistically, there was a very very low chance of him surviving this.

The trees rustled as they were parted...and Genesis turned around.

To some, djinn appeared much like giants, but there were distinct differences in their physiology. For one, giants manifested with flesh...much like humans. There were-of course-golem...but golems were geodesic in terms of pattern...like flattened volcanic rock that was semi-symmetrical. Djinn followed golem when it came to their exterior; which was much like a shell. The difference was that the rocky pattern of their exoskeletons thrust upwards like mountainous...ominous crags...much akin to chains of topography mimicking the steepest, most treacherous of peaks. Black...jagged and towering like a behemoth...all-consuming, frenetic, and vengeful. The eminence of their elemental power shone forth in cracks like glowing, eerie fault lines; features much akin to gaping maws with jagged teeth...hollow eyes and faces that resembled masks with differing-but equally grotesque-features. This one’s element was-of course-ice...and it manifested in a kind of ghostly, bluish cadaver radiance. Such eminence would manifest in magic, of course, of a caliber and scale that he couldn’t possibly hope to measure up to.

It was a little bit like getting sucked into an icy, endless void.

The wind bit at his skin...drove fine needlepoints of frost in deep where they stayed and radiated outwards to create a sensation of numbness. Driving, cacophonous gusts howled of ancient things...of deep wells and hidden secrets and bitter sorrows. There was the sense of age...of the observance of time passing by like water through spread fingers...glittering in hidden sunlight. And he didn’t need materia to know the psychic power behind his adversary, didn’t need to reach into his magical reserves to understand the difference between what he was being shown and what he could perceive from it. Hidden...shimmering glades inundated with snow...void of human footprints...stillness and silence and he was a _trespasser_ among such silence. A rumbling roar, much akin to water over falls...the temor of an approaching freight train and it grew into something that rattled his tympanic membrane until he felt like it was going to burst. Genesis had never felt small in the face of an adversary before, had never taken his longevity into account because he’d never needed to protect something to such a degree.

Now, he felt _miniscule._

Blue before red; a behemoth wrought in icy fire and he in flame before its feet. There was no timespace in which to contemplate his mortality in the face of something that-by his knowledge-did not age. A massive, spiked appendage rose high...trailing turquoise bioluminescence...spiked...rocky hands expanded...splayed wide and the light between them concentrated itself into a pinpoint of glittering, icy death. And the fire that spread from him to answer it was a conflagration; bursting through icy flakes to create a spiraling vortex that screamed its defiance. It threw itself outwards...lit up the trees in arcs of licking flame and he surged forward because he had to. Time seemed to slow in that moment...seemed to drag itself out in a velvet train; Genesis could hear his heartbeat, hear the ragged undertones of his breath intermingled with the roar of that which opposed him. The snow beneath him glittered like millions of scattered diamonds; threw itself upwards in a spray of illuminated, blossoming firth before his boots...swirled around his ankles and dug into his heels.

Monster against man..

...Monster against monster…

_Were they really so different?_

The jar of impact rattled him to his core and he was barely able to keep himself steady. He pivoted and threw a firaga over his shoulder only to have to duck and roll to avoid a massive, trash-can sized fist. The ground caved in where it landed...shuddered beneath the weight of it. And the lethal dance of their exchange was a thing wrought in aged ballads...a waltz of mortal proportions between two beings of infinitesimal power. Flame fought frost...hissed an elemental tune of opposing earthy refrains. A whorl of scarlet and blue, like the aurora borealis brought down and thrown two-tone. The former Commander flipped backwards, landed in a wide-stance crouch and bared his teeth in a snarl as fire blossomed under his fingertips...waved them in an interlacing arc and pushed it forwards even as the djinn roared and pushed back. The connection of their power was like the growling vociferation of a massive thunderhead...rolling across the mountains and echoing back. And if the trees around them were wrought in towers of crackling smoke they were quickly extinguished with the breath of icy frost; flickering like blackened matchsticks.

He didn’t know how long it lasted.

Chronological passage seemed to slow to a snail’s pace only to increase to a galloping, heart-wrenching velocity so vicious it left him gasping. A bit like being underwater, a bit like flying in a military craft that could break the speed of sound. His reserves were dwindling and his adversary was barely affected. His body was tired and his mind was tireder. Hours it dragged on…’till he felt like he was struggling to even lift his head…’till the march of death wasn’t a distant thing but an approaching battalion just over the edge of a hill. Genesis managed to get several good hits in...ones that would be remembered for a long time afterwards. The djinn’s exterior skeleton was cracked and open...bleeding winter onto snowy soil in a coagulation of sky-colored seepage. It was limping and wary but no less powerful and no less furious. And he’d lunged forward to go for the largest crevasse, to put his figurative furnaces straight into the chest area when pain exploded across his right side. It seared upwards...had him gasping against the bitter cold that felt like it was snapping him in half. Blood...red blood...everywhere and his right cheek was numb but it also felt like it was flayed. He stumbled and was thrown halfway across what remained of their campsite to land like a ragdoll.

He supposed it was the monumental second it took his opponent to savor his defeat that saved his life.

Crumpled...bleeding profusely, aching and shivering and utterly disoriented; the only thing Genesis could do as the djinn approached with a slavering, focused kind of purpose was stagger to his feet. The world was a red blur in half of his visage...something warped and distorted and he tried to clutch his affected side only for something broken and pained to bubble up in his throat. Footsteps like thunder, searing agony in his physicality and the only thing he could do was pray that Sephiroth had made it far enough, that he hadn’t lingered...that he hadn’t waited to see the results of this. The redhead also hoped that the djinn did something irreversible to his body...that it didn’t leave his mangled form lying in the snow for his lover to find if he did come back. The thought of the younger man kneeling next to his unrecognizable corpse left him cold and shivering and hopeless. Genesis closed his eyes and there was a roar, the impression of unavoidable...necrotic doom…

...And the song of a familiar blade slicing through air.

_Explosion._

The light behind his eyes was suddenly so bright it was like he hadn’t even lowered his lids. It was much like the sun had suddenly decided to drop itself before him and then been left to burn. He was now so hot he felt like he was melting and the djinn was howling in agony. Forcing himself to look, Genesis was almost immediately blinded. He couldn’t see two feet in front of him and when he could it appeared that the entire forest had decided to simultaneously combust. And-of course-there was Sephiroth. Sephiroth who was currently swinging Masamune like he’d never lost it with pieces of rocky djinn littering the soil around him. The djinn was-of course-not exactly down for the count but its right arm was missing and there was a large chunk ripped out of its right leg. Choking on hemoglobin, Genesis supposed he had to appreciate the younger man’s vicious tendency to go for equivalent revenge. And he wanted to scream a little bit because the former General had obviously used some sort of limit break to save his sorry ass-if that was even possible at this point-and pregnant people should not use limit breaks as far as he was concerned but he’d never been able to tell Sephiroth what to do. He wanted to be angry...wanted to rail at his former comrade because this was the stupidest thing he’d ever done...but he couldn’t.

Sephiroth was clearly struggling.

For all his prowess the younger man was not invulnerable, especially not now. And he didn’t want to ruminate over how the hell he’d managed to summon Masamune from absolutely nowhere but there was no time for it. Each blow from their opponent seemed to weaken him, but he was gaining ground all the same in the damage department. The djinn could barely stand...could barely swing and Genesis wanted to cheer but his mouth was filled with blood. Pivot, side to side and it was apparent that while he couldn’t do any of the leaps he usually performed, Sephiroth was still nimble on his feet. In a different situation he might have admired him but he was currently just _terrified._ Staggering forward, the former Commander managed a few feeble fira but they didn’t have much of an effect, he tried to flank his lover...tried to give him some sort of cover but he was essentially dead weight. The ground beneath him trailed scarlet and it was only a matter of time before he passed out.

The djinn landed a hit.

Specifically, the djinn managed to catch Sephiroth off-balance...considering the monumental shift in his center of gravity. The General staggered somewhat, went down to his knees in a quiet huff of air and hysteria was a red conflagration across Genesis’ psyche. He didn’t think, didn’t take the time to consider what he was doing. Scrambling forward, his limbs screaming in protest, he yanked Masamune out of his lover’s hands...brought it up...winced against the ingress of howling cold. And the blade was through...straight through the gap in that horrible, dark exoskeleton and into the chest cavity. Frost burned his fingers, seeped into his phalanges but still he held it steady even as the monstrosity above him howled...yanked itself backwards and staggered...limbs trembling like so many interlocking, twisted puzzle pieces. There was a shudder...a sense of massive collapse and the gigantic...towering body began to crumble into pieces...crashed down to the forest floor and scattered forth. That evil, effervescent light grew unbearably bright...until he was forced to close his eyes. There was an exhalation...like air pushing from the lungs of someone sighing. It drew itself out...curled around them...bitter and sweet and a little bit like surrender.

When Genesis opened his eyes again the djinn was gone.

Abruptly, the adrenaline surging through him fell to pieces. He felt himself make a low...agonized noise before he dropped Masamune and slumped forward. And it was Sephiroth who was scrambling now...Sephiroth who was levering himself up like a silver shadow despite the obvious discomfort in his features. Sephiroth’s hands that were checking him over, flitting and somewhat unsteady...Sephiroth who was saying something he couldn’t hear...burbled and muted and staticy.

“I didn-” Genesis voice was choked, slurred and weary...but he had to get it out...had to _say_ it. “I d-din’t mean it” he gasped. “Didn’t mean...any of it.” His vision was blurring. And it was weird to have to go through this again, uncomfortable and distinctly melodramatic. There was green...a large portion of green searing across his retinas but he couldn’t focus. “Love you...d-don’t say it enough...l-lo-”

“Shut up Genesis.”

The aforementioned man blinked and then frowned. He could hear the former General again, which he supposed was an improvement. Come to think of it, he was still in pain but it didn’t feel like he was broken or about to float away into nothingness either. Forcing himself to focus, he acknowledged that his partner was hovering over him holding a spherical, veridian orb that was slowly seeping chartreuse into his physicality. He could-somewhat distantly-feel his body knitting itself back together...could feel muscle and sinew closing itself...aided by the mako in his system. Sephiroth attended to the damage in a clinical, professional manner, but he was obviously hurting. The green-eyed former First was pale, and his forehead was bright with sweat. Every so often he would grit his teeth and his movements would falter. Such occurrences increased in frequency until he nearly dropped the curaga, one hand dropping to smooth itself over the protrusion at his middle as he hunched forward slightly.

“Stop” Genesis muttered, panic making his tone rough. “Seph, _stop_ you’re-”

“I told you to shut up” was the snapped response. “I still have to do your face, you’ll scar otherwise.”

 

The redhead wheezed something that felt half like laughter and half like incredulity.

“You’re having c-contractions and you’re worried about my stupid _face?!_ ”

“You’re one to talk” was the grunted response. “You seem to worry about it an awful lot.” When the older man opened his mouth to argue, green eyes narrowed. “Don’t talk, and hold still. We need to do this fast, there’s no way this didn’t draw attention.”

That shut him up real quick.

It took maybe five minutes before he felt remotely close to normal. He’d have bruises, of course, but that was nothing compared to the certain death he would have faced without the Curaga. Within ten minutes, he was able to stand and-despite his protests-Sephiroth took the duffel bag. It was, admittedly, the only option other than leaving it behind because he could barely walk. They stumbled into the trees with a blind sort of purpose, and it was perhaps half an hour before he realized that the younger man was making a course to the cave. They didn’t talk, but neither of them really had the energy to. Half of him was shell shocked at the fact that he was still alive. Looking at Masamune dangling from a strap at the back of the bag, he was accosted with the urge to question his lover, but couldn’t compile the proper words. And it was a long trek; through scorched trees and hollowed out fissures from the fight...up onto the base of the mountain and upward still. They stopped so Genesis could stab himself in the thigh with a vial of mako and that made him feel better for a little bit but not by much. You couldn’t lose half the blood in your body and not need some type of regenerative substance. Mako wasn’t ideal but it would have to do. The cells he would produce would be inundated with it, but at least he wouldn’t need a transfusion.

It was good that they left when they did.

By the time they made it halfway up the mountain the area where they’d fought the djinn was inundated with helicopters and transport vehicles. The woods were alight with SOLDIERs searching with high-energy beam flashlights and he despaired of them being found out but held out on hope and luck. It was hard enough to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, let alone worrying about what might or might not be pursuing them. Up here, the air was somewhat thinner and that just made the going worse. Compared to the icy gusts that came with the djinn it was nothing, but it was still difficult. His feet felt like they were made of lead...his body a heavy...staggering thing. It was a mindless trek...the destination the only thing they could focus on and he was sure they would pay for it later.

By the time they made it to the cave Sephiroth was in full labor.

The panic that came with this realization was enough to drive him to hysteria. And he only noticed it because the minute they were a couple feet inside the former General dropped the bag and then sank down to the floor...a clear...glittering trail of fluid marking back the way they had come. They didn’t have a fire, they didn’t have anything to ease his pain and it was _too soon_...months too soon but there was nothing for it. And Genesis wanted to cry because babies born this early needed to be in a hospital...they needed to be in warm, cozy incubators wrapped in blankets with monitors and nurses and doctors. They needed formula and bottles and stuffed animals and loving parents who weren’t running for their lives and looking around corners at every turn. But they had none of that. They had a cold cave, a few blankets and no milk and _nothing_. They had Genesis who was half-dead and Sephiroth who was groaning quietly, on his hands and knees with his forehead pressed against rough stone as he tried to fight his body’s need to bring forth life.

...A life that might soon have been created only to face death.

_’You need to stop it...you need to help him stop it…!!!_

There was something else...something else in the cave with them. Something glittering and warm and ethereal and at first Genesis assumed he was hallucinating but it didn’t stop him from seeing what-or who-it was. And he knew her from looking at the files...knew her face and form and the hate that rose in him was incoherent but not unfounded. Because it was too late to help now...too late to bring something from so much nothingness. And you couldn’t manifest something like this in a situation inundated with darkness, couldn’t bring something positive into this when everything around you was hopeless and useless. Cased in mako, enclosed in glittering crystal that rose to the ceiling was Lucrecia Crescent.

...Sephiroth’s mother.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Sorry (again) that it's been so long but I was working on a few other things that I posted recently.  
>  Lucrecia Cave has been moved because I am lazy and refuse to make them turn around and go South. And because SE is chronically topographically inaccurate in-game so I figure I can do whatever the hell I want if they can. The Djinn concept is from Legend of the Cryptids (card game). I did a lot of AU'ing here. Hopefully this chapter didn't move too fast. I'm not sure why I do these cliffhangers because they drive me pretty crazy lol
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> **R &R**


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter is alright. Please excuse potentially horrid spelling/grammar errors. I was editing this when I was so tired my eyes were rolling back.

Everything was pain.

 

Doubled over on a cold cavern floor, covered in cold sweat and Sephiroth was in _agony_. The most prominent facet of his discomfort was panic; because it was too early, too soon and nothing was prepared. He'd taken wounds on the battlefield, terrible wounds that sluiced blood and bodily fluids and left him staring sightlessly at the sky. Likewise, he'd been subjected to torture in the labs; been torn apart and put back together...violated and mocked and belittled until he didn't know what or who he was. Sephiroth knew pain and he knew death, such things didn't frightened him. Mortality was as easy as breathing; it was something expected, sometimes something embraced. He had fought lengthy, bitter battles in the throes of it; had conquered cities while the necrotic embrace of everlasting sleep crept behind his eyelids.

 

This was different. 

 

This was _terrifying_.

 

Deep and rolling; scalding his nether regions...like fire soaring through his system. And he'd never understood the terminology of being _'torn apart from the inside out'_...but now he did. It felt like someone had pushed jagged, glowing claws of volcanic magma into his lower extremities only to fan them out and _rip_ downwards in a tearing, flesh-rending score of ruination. Tight, too-tight and too-hot and too much all at once. It came and went with a kind of idle, malicious frequency; the pre-herald being a tightening sensation across his abdomen...like iron bands were being wrapped around his stomach only to be pulled taut. It took everything he had not to start howling, everything he had to keep himself remotely close to quiet and even then he was only barely successful. The choked, desperate noises that fell from his lips were strangled and staggered...sometimes shocked in their quality as he tried to ground himself with the feeling of jagged stone beneath his palms.

 

He was accosted with thousands of worries at once; of where they were going to put it. Of whether it would survive or not. His body hadn't seen fit to provide their child with any form of nutrition. At some point, he'd thought that lactation might have been a factor and maybe it was too soon for him to develop any qualities related to nursing but now he found himself wishing that he had. Not for the aesthetic of it, but simply for the sheer desperation of the situation they were in. And he'd been over such concerns before; he and Genesis had discussed them at length, but they were always moving...always on the run and always hyper focused on their next destination. A frantic, somewhat pathetic part of him was thinking that maybe he should have listened to Mati and stayed but there was no room for regrets now. He couldn't think back on it without feeling monumentally more lost because Mati would have at least been able to provide them with advice...would have been able to look after them in a manner in which they couldn't do by themselves.

 

There was-of course-the fact that if he hadn't engaged the djinn that this wouldn't have been happening.

 

That being said, if Sephiroth _hadn't_ engaged Genesis would be dead. Extremely dead. There were no words to describe his panic when he returned to their campsite to find his lover shredded practically into pieces and an ancient, icy abomination standing before him gloating over the redhead's imminent demise. Something purely instinctual and purely desperate had answered to him in that moment...something alien and foreign that he didn't understand and didn't know how to describe. Only there was the sense of coalescence, of time and space unravelling and then stitching themselves together until Masamune was heavy and glittering in his palm. He hadn't thought about the consequences, he'd only thought about the loss of his _mate_ -as his mind ferociously put it-all else had fallen to the wayside. Lunging across snowy, glittering space, he'd utilized a Limit Break so virulent he'd nearly lost consciousness upon its culmination.

 

He’d known immediately afterwards that he was going to regret it.

 

Instantaneously, his body had ached like fire and his knees had gone somewhat weak. It had taken every facet of his willpower to continue the battle afterwards, to trade blow for blow and it was a miracle that Genesis was able to act when he did. Because when the djinn had knocked him sideways it felt like everything in him went to water. He was-momentarily-boneless and useless and _hurting_. From there on, labor was a dark phantom at the back of his physicality. It started out slow and reluctant while he was using the Curaga but their trek up the mountain didn't help things at all. Realistically, he might have been able to stop it if they'd paused to rest but they couldn't...not with Shinra close behind and the sense of imminent doom that followed them. Step after step, ache after ache and by the time they were at the mouth of the cave there was a slow, vicious seep of amniotic fluid suffusing his fatigues and it was too late.

 

Genesis' words had hurt.

 

They'd hurt considerably, and at the time he'd taken them at face value. Looking back on it, Sephiroth felt distinctly idiotic for falling for the ploy so easily. But Genesis' love had never made sense to him in the first place, so his rejection was comprehensible because he hated himself to such a great degree that it didn't seem strange at all. He'd left feeling like he was slowly shaking apart and made it about half a mile before his logical deduction forced him to turn around again. Because while his redheaded lover could be callous and cruel, he wasn't the type to insult without feasible merit...and he certainly wasn't the type to insult needlessly; panicked and harsh with little purpose. Grudgingly, the younger man had to admit that he probably would have done the same thing. And it was clever in a brutal, artful way that was singularly that of the former Commander and his inherent mental prowess. So, he'd turned back...and that was what had lead them there...

 

...To her.

 

In the throes of agony, Sephiroth hadn't been able to acknowledge her presence at first. There was too much going on in his body and in his mind for him to come up with a cogent rationale for her existence. When he did acknowledge her, he immediately dismissed her as a hallucination. Admittedly, it was an odd hallucination. By his knowledge, he had no emotional attachments to Lucrecia, so her presence in his mind was a little bit unfounded and frivolous. After some time, the realization that Genesis could see her too had forced him to accept her as a reality. When this happened he was so furious he'd bit out a stream of choked curses that had his redheaded lover looking at him like he was insane. Miserably, he acknowledged that maybe it was unjustified but he couldn't take this...couldn't take so many things at once and bring them together in his mind without some form of emotional release. Lucrecia was trying to connect with him psychically but each time she did he threw her away because he didn't want to hear her, didn't want to know her voice because she had never _given_ him her voice...her touch. 

 

The irony of it didn't escape him.

 

For him to stumble into the cave where the woman who had given birth to him was hidden away only to _give_ birth was so starkly fantastical it was almost saccharine in its quality. And he hated her for bearing witness to this when she had never borne witness to him...had run instead of caring for him...had left him to Hojo instead of taking him with her. He hated her for being young and beautiful with a face so much like his own that it was impossible to ignore the similarities in their features. ...Hated her for still being alive and doing nothing to reach out to him...for sequestering herself away because life was-assumably- _too hard._ More than that, however, he hated himself. Hated himself for being in this position in the first place; for succumbing to Jenova and then succumbing to his heat because things were _all right_ before that. Yes, Genesis had been dying, but if he'd waited a minute longer, if he'd been able to see past his instincts none of this would have happened or been necessary. 

 

_”You need to help him stop it!”_

He wanted to laugh.

In an ugly, bitter manner, he wanted to throw his head back and laugh until the sound of it bounced off the crystalline ceiling around them. Because there was no stopping this. His body felt like it had gotten onto a freight train bound for Hell and dragged him along for the ride. Felt like his physicality was hurtling into perdition with nothing and no one that could stop it. Genesis, to his credit, was holding up fantastically. Kneeling beside him, the redhead was trying to help him turn over with no success, was trying to get him off his hands and knees so that the older man could aid him in one way or another but he felt like if he moved he was going to explode. And there was something so deeply _primal_ about it; something so instinctual and urgent. That was-if anything-what frightened him the most; the fact that he was so attuned to himself that everything appeared to be expanded and magnified with a ferocious quality. 

“How the fuck do I do that?!”

Against his will, Sephiroth felt a manic grin split his face. Because of course Genesis would swear in front of his mother. All genuinity and passion and firth and the blue-eyed ex-First wasn’t going to turn it down no matter who was before him. Wild-eyed and dirty, blood-drenched clothes, a nasty, yellowing bruise covering half of his entire body, and his redheaded lover was as forward and direct as he always was. Slender fingers made to grasp his wrist but the former General lifted the other to slap them away. There was a growing urge within him that he was so hysterically horrified by that he was using every iota of his existence and willpower to shove it back. It was virulent...insidious and so strong that it felt like it was rising up to grip him by the throat. He _wanted to-_ but he didn’t-! But he _had_ to…!

 _”Water”_ Lucrecia was speaking to Genesis and he wanted to kill them both. “Lots of it, though not enough to make him feel uncomfortable. If you have any spirits-”

 _”Genesis”_ Sephiroth muttered blinking rapidly. “I need to-” he broke off and groaned loudly. “I think I n-I _need_ to-”

“Need to what?!” the older man practically shrieked. 

“I don’t-” he paused and the urge became a black-red arc across his mentality. _”Genesis-!”_

At that moment, his lover seemed to catch on. If anything, the panic in his eyes increased tenfold.

“Don’t you _dare_ push” he growled. “Don’t you dare, Seph.”

“I _have_ to” and he hated how his voice came out broken and somewhat plaintive. “I can’t _stop!_.” 

The former Commander refocused on his mother, his visage so pale it was nearly translucent.

“Water?” he snapped. “And alcohol?”

This time, he and Lucrecia seemed to have an entirely closed exchange via their mentalities. Or maybe it was because he was in so much pain at this point that his ears couldn’t be bothered to listen anymore. His desire to expel was so strong that it was making him nauseous; he could feel bile rising at the back of his throat even as his vision swam and his head grew heavy. Sephiroth didn’t even twitch when Genesis threw himself away to scrabble at the duffle bag; his conversation with the woman encased in crystalized mako before him apparently over. There was the shuffle of fabric, the sound of various items rolling around and the redhead reappeared moments later with several bottles of water and what appeared to be a hip flask. Setting the aforementioned items down, his second-in-command knelt beside him, his visage pleading. 

“Seph, please” he said hoarsely. “Turn onto your side.” There was the glitter of something else-another curaga he acknowledged dimly-but he forced himself to focus. And it was agonizing to turn his body...to force stiff limbs from an ingrained position to move elsewhere. Genesis had placed a blanket for him to pillow his head on as he stretched out over the cave floor...dirt caked under fingernails that were run somewhat rough from scraping at unyielding bedrock. It was-admittedly-somewhat less painful this way. He was allowed a form of ease that felt as deceptive as it was relieving. “Thank you.”

Breathing heavily, sweat trickling over his upper lip until he could taste the salt in his mouth...Sephiroth couldn’t find the withwhereal to reply. They remained there for a moment, looking at each other. And the former General could tell that there were a thousand things that his partner wanted to say but couldn’t seem to find the right words for. They did need to talk about this, needed to get past this like they’d gotten past so many other things. There were reassurances that needed to be upheld, actions justified. He didn’t know when that opportunity to sit down and talk would come...didn’t know if he’d even _survive_ this considering the intensity of it, but the requirement was a wordless acknowledgement; something unsaid but understood. Settling himself into a cross-legged position, the former Commander unscrewed the cap to the water bottle and waited patiently when the younger man tensed as another contraction hit him head on. It took longer for him to recover than previous times, and when he did he felt like he’d been shaken apart. And he hated the fact that he had to let Genesis lift his head to help him drink. Hated that his lips trembled momentarily on the rim of the plastic before he was able to steady himself. When he’d drunk perhaps half, the older man set the bottle to the side and reached for the flask.

“It’s whiskey” he said in a somewhat uncertain tone. “Mati gave it to me for wounds...disinfection and the like and I didn’t feel like saying it wasn’t necessary. She says-” a jerk of a scarlet-head towards Lucrecia. “That it might relax your muscles, and the water is important because dehydration can cause contractions and you’ve been doing a...considerable amount of physical activity.” 

“I don’t need the clinical report” Sephiroth rasped. “Just...hurry up.” 

“I don’t really see how this is good for the baby” Genesis muttered, unscrewing the cap nevertheless. “But if it saves her life I guess I’m not going to complain.” 

He’d expected the taste to be acrid.

Admittedly, it had been a long time since Sephiroth had drunk anything alcoholic at all. He’d abstained since he’d started pursuing sobriety prior to their venture into Banora and he’d somewhat convinced himself that he wasn’t attracted to it anymore. He was, apparently, wrong; because the minute he took a sip he wanted to take twelve more and it was only Genesis pulling it back that stopped him from doing so. Again, they looked at each other, and again there was the acknowledgement of difficulties past...of things managed and unmanaged. Several minutes passed in such a manner before the redhead sighed and looked away. Swiping an unsteady hand over lips that felt unnecessarily wet, Sephiroth swallowed and opened his mouth to speak before doubling over-or as much as he was able to from the position he was in-and gritting his teeth. It was-he acknowledged-less painful than the time before and the urge to push was more of a background sensation than a crawling, unstoppable desire. That didn’t mean that the danger had passed, of course, and it certainly didn’t _feel_ like it had...but it gave him some form of hope.

Minutes bled into an hour, and an hour into several hours. Genesis consistently proffered water, and when he was able to take it himself, he did. Sephiroth was only given the flask once more and he didn’t protest when he didn’t get another opportunity. His cell structure allowed him to metabolize it quickly and they didn’t dare risk further consumption. The effects were minimal; it warmed his stomach a bit and did ease the sense of clutching, dragging tension...but otherwise was mostly a neutral element. It was impossible to tell if it affected the baby and they tried not to think on it. They didn’t talk much at all, really. Both of them were too wrapped up in the urgency of their circumstances to formulate any sort of conversational rapport. By the time the fourth hour rolled around, Sephiroth felt close enough to normal that he was able to sit up. Genesis protested when he saw what he was doing, but ultimately made no move to stop him. Crossing his legs, the younger man leaned back somewhat on one hand and closed his eyes.

He felt utterly disgusting.

Sweat had dried in his hair and at his temples; making strands of it somewhat stiff and a bit scratchy. To someone with normal, humanistic sensitivities it might have been negligible but it was fast driving him to distraction. Thankfully, his partner seemed to be thinking several steps ahead and was pulling a pair of pants from the duffel bag to ameliorate the most prominent issue. Pushing a few wayward locks from his forehead, the former General exhaled exhaustedly whilst grimacing on the inside. The fatigues he was currently wearing were unsalvageable. And even if they were, there wasn’t a washing machine for at least a hundred miles. He didn’t want to keep anything that reminded him of the experience regardless. It would-he acknowledged-be a little longer before he felt stable enough to swap them out, but he was grateful of the gesture all the same. He was just becoming aware of the chill around them when a blanket was draped over his shoulders and he communicated his thanks silently, with his eyes. Flame-wreathed lashes lowered somewhat in response and the former Commander settled next to him...not touching but close enough to if needed.

It was only then that he allowed himself to look at her.

Her presence was a strange thing...something that a part of him ached at the sight of. Dark hair...so unlike his own in color yet so much like it in the way it fell. A shapely face; lips not dissimilar to his own. She was willowy, tall and slender...graceful in appearance yet somehow soft. Lucrecia wore white, and somehow it added insult to injury because there was-in his opinion-nothing remotely pure about her. Strings of pearls looped about a neck that might make a swan green with envy; dark, straight brows that were just on the edge of something severe...a dainty nose and full cheeks. Encased in luminescent green, glowing and effervescent...somehow it made her seem unreal. Her hands were akin to his; long, pale and adroit...the hands of a creator...the hands of a researcher…

...The hands of a _scientist_.

_”My so-”_

“-I am _not_ your son.” 

Low, grating and somewhat tremulous. Sephiroth spoke through gritted teeth, his hands balled into fists. Her voice was smooth and uninflected, punctuated and clearly intelligent and it _hurt_ to listen to her. Because she had never spoken to him before...she had never seen him, never heard him, never known him. Genesis was quiet at his side but the younger man could sense his observance, could sense him gauging the situation for what it was. Within him, their child rolled but it was a weak thing...a fading thing. There was the sense of imminent departure...of spiritual egress and it felt like he was breaking apart. Because he could not _lose_ so much after trying so hard. He was aching, tired, disoriented and confused; in physical and psychical pain. Holding himself together was harder than he wanted it to be, being strong was harder than he wanted it to be. 

_”You’ll need to use the Curaga.”_

She was speaking to Genesis again, professional and distant. And he wondered blindly if this shocked her, if she knew that her progeny was so strangely different. If she did, she was doing a considerably good job of hiding it. When the redhead didn’t speak, she repeated herself.

_”You need to use it, or you’re going to lose her._

“...How?” Hoarse, _tired_...and it seemed like they were nothing but tired. The blue eyed former FIRST cleared his throat. “How do I do it?”

 _”He needs to replenish amniotic fluid”_ was the ghostly response. _”And whatever tear caused the leak needs to be mended. ...Are you not a mage?”_

For the first time, the older man seemed genuinely irritated.

“Yeah, I’m a mage, but I’m not a fucking _magician._ Walk me through it.”

From there, Sephiroth tuned the conversation out. Instead, he focused on what was being done. With hands that were trembling from exhaustion, Genesis kneeled before him and reached out, looking upwards and waiting for his nod before unzipping his coat and pushing the shirt and sweater beneath upward. At this point, the curve of his abdomen was a prominent shape; heavy and full and extremely _uncomfortable_ at all times. Pale fingers rested momentarily on the downward slope of taut epidermis, the glow of the Curaga flaring briefly before lithe digits moved doward. They located his Pectineus; chartreuse tendrils following it down and for a moment there the former Commander hovered. There was the murmur of Lucrecia’s voice again and the younger man observed as his companion closed his eyes and took a deep breath. For but a second, the entirety of his body seemed to glow...seemed to fall behind a veil and there was the sensation of warmth across his middle. It took a while, but the sense of imminent danger ebbed...as did some of the discomfort. 

It became quickly apparent that Genesis was tapping into his already very low Mana reserves. 

He became, if possible, even more pale than before and Sephiroth was eventually forced to knock him away. Grasping both of the older man's wrists, the former General shoved the redhead back. His partner abruptly gasped, like he was coming up for air. They remained poised there; with the blue-eyed FIRST held at bay...on his knees and leaning back. The younger man mirrored him in stance at a slightly elevated angle. Blue irises sought green...their daughter moved...slow and sleepy but _safe_ pressed between them. And it didn't matter that Lucrecia was there... likely wouldn't have mattered if the entire First Batallion was there. Something in this sapphire eyes shifted...became something sweet and fluttering and _vulnerable._ A hand rose to cup his cheek, fingers splayed wide against his jaw... stroking over his cheekbones. Sephiroth bent his head until their brows were brought together...till their nearness was a balm to the exhausted bonelessness inside of him. 

“I love you” Genesis murmured, and it was tremulous. “Goddess, I _love you,_ I'm sorr-”

“-Don't” the former General said hoarsly. “You did what you could...both of us did. You fought a _djnn_ Genesis. _I've_ never fought a djinn.”

Breath made his bangs shiver as the redhead chuckled.

“Fat lot of good it did me.”

“You did well.”

The blue-eyed FIRST stiffened somewhat, and Sephiroth acknowledged that this was the first time he'd vocally praised Genesis for his prowess in combat. Some part of him felt helplessly terrible at the thought. The acknowledgement that the scarlet-haired former SOLDIER had had to be torn to ribbons in order for him to say it was even more painful. 

“I'm just glad she's okay” was the continuation before him. 

Smiling crookedly, Sephiroth ducked his head to press a kiss to the redhead's temple.

“... I'm just glad she has you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> **R &R**


	17. Chapter 17

Genesis tried to keep his distance from Sephiroth’s conversation with Lucrecia.

Shifting on rough sandstone, the redhead rubbed his shoulder absentmindedly. Staring with unseeing eyes at the back corner of the cavern, the blue-eyed former SOLDIER reflected that it wasn’t much of a conversation to begin with, but it was still none of his business. He didn’t _know_ Lucretia...not really...not underneath her file; he couldn’t make a judgement based on that. Gaia, he _wanted_ to, but he wouldn’t...though not for his own sake, for Sephiroth’s sake. He’d known Circinae what felt like two seconds before she died, he wasn’t going to instill the same ire in his partner because he’d had somewhat shitty parents. Eyeing the woman encased in crystallized mako, the former Commander reflected that he didn’t know if Lucrecia was _alive_. The idealisms of it were disturbing to say the least. Someone with the withwhereal to die inch by inch, covered in raw mako until it created some type of sentient fossil resin of themselves had to be in a hell of a lot of pain beforehand. A part of him squirmed in a kind of reluctantly sympathetic squeamishness at the mere idea. 

He wasn’t sure what dismissed Lucretia’s aims and what made Hojo infallible. 

Not in the sense of culpability, but in the logic regarding why Hojo had gotten to go on to become some type of crazed super villain admired for his genius, and why Lucrecia had essentially faded into a tortured shadow and then ended up where they were. What was wrong with her resilience? Why had she chosen flight over fighting for her child? Looking over at the individual next to him...the whispers of what had happened during Sephiroth’s childhood...what had happened to him well into adulthood crept in upon him. If Dr. Crescent had been used half as heinously as her son, without enhancements, without Jenova cells to bolster her fortitude...how damaged an individual would that create? How broken was Lucretia by the time her child was born? He didn’t really want to think about it, because if he did, he was going to pity her. Pity was an inconvenience in the face of abandonment; it didn’t allow for straightforward consideration...didn’t allow for judgement. It was easier to think of Lucretia as stupid and neglectful than abused and frightened…

...Easier to place blame on the inane than the incarcerated.

Sephiroth was still quite clearly uncomfortable. He’d changed out of his slacks-though not without insisting Genesis stand in front of him with a blanket and his back facing his mother-but he was pale and the fingers he was currently using to unscrew a water bottle were unsteady; somewhat jerky in their purpose. The hours preheralding such tenuous tranquility-if it could even be called that-had been agonizing...for both of them. Seeing his partner in so much pain...feeling helpless in terms of being able to do anything...Genesis never wanted to go through that again. The reality that he would _have_ to go through it again, inevitably, was terrifying. The former Commander had held onto his sanity by a single thread, and he was loathe to give Lucrecia credit...but she'd walked him through much of it. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised by her expertise...she was a scientist...but she wasn't a gynecologist. 

It was some sort of standoff.

Pursing his lips, the redhead let his gaze flick from the former General to the former scientist and back again. Rather, it seemed that Sephiroth was in a standoff with himself and his mother was simply waiting for him to come to some sort of conclusion. They really didn’t have _time_ for this, he reflected a bit bitterly. He truly wanted them to, but they needed to find a hospital at this point. At the very least they needed to find shelter and warmth. It seemed like this particular mantra galloped around his head like a herd of wild horses. Because he could _want_ and _wish_ and _need_ but the only thing that was going to get them anywhere was _doing_. SOLDIERs learned to expect little from inaction; it didn’t get you promoted, didn’t get you paid and didn’t get you recognized. Sometimes he wondered how much that hurt individual mentality; such an ingrained and constant need to drive forward. Regardless, this was something they needed to make time for...for the sake of the individual before him...for the sake of finding some answers. 

Genesis was going to have scars.

His vanity wailed at the idea, but he was too tired to be unduly upset about it. Fighting elemental creatures of such magnitude usually left some type of stain…and he was at least glad that this time the stain was on his physicality and not on his soul. There were consequences to being practically ripped in half. No one on earth was going to come out of that type of situation unscathed. The former Commander had fully expected to die there, had expected to go out in a sea of fire and ice with nothing but the hope that his lover and his unborn child would make it out alive. There was only so much mako could do, and he was-in the end-grateful for his life and all that came with it. He supposed that some part of him should be upset that Sephiroth had been forced to save him, that he hadn’t measured up to something balanced in terms of their prowess. But at this point he’d learned that love didn’t equate to a balance of scales in terms of skillset or ability. Trying to find equality was like trying to make two different people into a cohesive terminology; they were different...but they were together. He didn’t _need_ to be able to hack something into ribbons to prove that _’my dick is of equal or greater size than your dick.’_

Sometimes, the fact that he had lived by such standards in the past made him want to vomit. 

He still loved strippers and pole dancing and terrible reggae. He also still loved the idea of sparring his partner until one or both of them were so aroused they couldn’t think coherently anymore. Genesis loved explicit art and skinny dipping, poetry and overindulgence and maybe some recreational drugs on the side but he was at least sensible enough to recognize when he could not to do that shit anymore without facing serious detriment to his health and his sanity. And when their daughter was born he expected to be properly fucked into next week; until he was howling his ecstacy to the stars, but he also expected it _slow_ and _deep_ and Sephiroth better damn well make it last. It was strange to learn temperance, and sometimes it made him want to set many things on fire when he thought about the cost of what gaining that temperance was….but it was still temperance.

They were going to have to go to Icicle Inn.

Genesis didn’t like the idea; it was a tourist hotspot...newly rebuilt from the carnage his lover had rained down upon it. Feasibly, however, Zack was there...and if they could have someone working on the inside smuggle them into a hotel room...just for a few weeks; until the former General gave birth...that would be enough. He’d need to nick some materia from whatever guards were stationed there; something to mute the sound his partner would feasibly make while in labor...cura and curaga. It would take them at least a month to get to Icicle Inn on foot, and they’d be terribly lucky if nothing happened during that time. It _would_ be just their luck if they got there and Sephiroth’s body decided it wasn’t ready yet. He still had the disguise he’d taken from Outfitting, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. If he needed to go out he could always use that, and he had a niggling feeling that once they got there his companion would be perfectly happy to do nothing but rest. 

They were going to have to leave their daughter.

The idea of it made him cold...made him want to crawl into a hole and possibly die...but he didn’t see a way around it. He’d turned the idea over in his mind a thousand times and he didn’t see an alternative. If they were going to go back and overthrow Shinra, they couldn’t take an infant with them. It wasn’t logical, it wasn’t rational, and it wasn’t ethical. A baby did not deserve to be in the middle of a combat zone. He couldn’t convince Sephiroth to stay, which left them with the conundrum of finding a caregiver. Genesis was fairly sure that Aerith would do it. Really, he was fairly sure she’d fall all over herself to do it and then thank them profusely for no reason at all. He was also pretty confident that Zack would help her if need be. He could not, however, bring the baby to her in Midgar. Not without having the constant niggling panic that she’d been kidnapped while they were away. And it would have been nice to have her close, but that wasn’t an option. The redhead was leaning towards asking Angeal’s protegee to bring his sister up so that she could ‘babysit’ where his partner had given birth...but nothing was concrete just yet.

Sephiroth was not going to like it.

Watching his fairly angry partner put an absent-minded palm over his middle, Genesis felt the ache in his chest intensify. Time would tell...perhaps, if Sephiroth really wanted to come with him. Something in him whispered there was little doubt of it, but he held out on the hope that once their daughter came into the world the younger man would suddenly ‘wake up’ and realize that nothing _else_ in the world mattered. It was a frivolous train of thought...of that he was sure. When it came to making the world safer, both of them had the sincerely inconvenient malediction of tunnel vision. Neither of them would be able to rest easily, as parents or civilians if they felt that Shinra was still a threat. Even if they were able to find some remote area of the world to live on, they would never be able to truly settle down...never be able to stop without looking nervously over their shoulders.

_”I imagine it was somewhat of a shock...finding out you were carrying another life inside of you.”_

Genesis barely repressed an explosive sigh. Lucrecia had been trying like this for the past hour; gentle, prodding comments, careful phrases. She was aiming for reciprocation, for some type of conversational rapport when her son was quite clearly going for the ‘brick wall’ approach. He got what she was trying to do...a little bit. Because even if Dr. Crescent didn’t have a right to talk to her child, she still wanted to give him every opportunity possible so that when they left, he didn’t feel like he’d resisted needlessly. 

“Unlike you” Sephiroth said slowly, startling him. “I didn’t consent to her being experimented on.”

There was silence after that, a rather enormous silence. The former Commander supposed that there wasn’t all that much to say. An apology seemed lackluster, seemed weak and flagrant in the face of what Lucrecia had done to her unborn child. Now that he was quickly coming into the world of parenthood, the redhead had a much harder time thinking subjectively about it. He was fairly sure if his silver-haired lover suggested anything of the sort he’d have shackled him somewhere obsolete and then taken their daughter as far away from him as possible once she was born. When his partner’s mother spoke again, her ‘voice’ was halting.

 _”I...don’t think there’s anything that could assuage that”_ she remarked quietly. _”Excuses-”_

“-Are petty” was the deep baritone response. “Pointless. But I want to understand your reasoning.” When a shocked stretch of wordless time-space followed, his partner seemed to deflate. “I'm not saying anything you could say would change my mind about what I think of your decision...or, really, what I think of _you_. And I won't call your debt in terms of an explanation either-”

 _”-You could”_ Lucrecia interrupted in a hushed voice. 

“I could” the former General agreed, inclining his head in acquiescence. “But if I need to do that, I don't want to hear another word that comes out of your mouth.”

It was hard to describe what it felt like to _feel_ Lucrecia’s emotions. They were a background to his...something imbued in his mentality that slowly bloomed. A bit like a whisper... like the ghost of a memory fluttering over his recollective 'tongue’; the ethos of it was there... omnipresent yet distant. Like the undertone of jasmine in green tea, really...or any other subtle spice overlain by another more powerful one. In the present moment, Dr.Crescent’s hesitance was sharp in a manner much akin to frost. Sephiroth appeared to think it tiresome, and he was much inclined to agree.

 _”Hojo told me the experiments would make you smarter...more resilient... stronger”_ Lucrecia began. 

“Why?” the former General pressed, and when his mother ‘felt’ confused, he elaborated. “Why would you want that for your child? Why wouldn't you want them to have a normal life?”

 _”You were Hojo's child as much as you were mine”_ was the brittle response. _”There was a time when I loved him...when I let that love blind me to the person he was becoming in lieu of who he used to be.”_

“I have a hard time believing that he was ever appealing” Genesis said dryly.

Her amusement was palatable.

 _”It’s easy to forget that we were as young as you are now, I suppose. He was handsome, if a bit bumbling in the romance department, and I was young and stupid.”_ A mental shiver...a little bit like a gust of wind and the redhead supposed it was as close to a sigh as she could get. _”If I were...alive, my physical body wouldn’t look like this. I’d be older...like he is. But by the time I was pregnant I’d discerned his darkness and I wanted to save him, I think. And then when he proposed you for Project J, I thought if you were stronger, smarter...you’d find a way out when mine was already closed to me. I lost the opportunity to make things right when I rejected Vincent.”_

“Vincent?” Sephiroth clarified.

This time, there was the sensation of pain...of a black, necrotic darkness seeping between them. Genesis was given the impression of something lost; of something proffered and turned away to great detriment. 

_”Vincent Valentine was a Turk assigned to the Project”_. Lucrecia’s ‘words’ were halting this time...like ‘speaking’ them took her a great amount of effort. _”I worked with his father...Grimoire, and he died because an experiment I was monitoring suffered a catastrophic failure. Grimoire pushed me out of the way to avoid the fallout, but it cost him his life. Shinra forbade disclosure in terms of the nature of his death...they were afraid of legal consequences, afraid of the things they were doing being found out before they could cumulate into something that would make them great. Later, when Vincent came along...it quickly became apparent he had feelings for me, but I couldn’t return them...not when he was blind to his father’s death and I was not. Eventually...however, he did find out...I don’t think he blamed me at all really, but I blamed myself. I looked to Hojo for comfort instead of him.”_ Both men were silent as Dr. Crescent gathered herself enough to continued. _”When Vincent...found out about what we were planning to do to our unborn child...he was...distraught. He fought for you, Sephiroth, and he didn’t even know you...not really. He fought so hard that it cost him his life….Hojo shot him and then he experimented on him. I...managed to save him...what was left of him anyway.”_ A pause. _“You...look like him ..a little bit, but I think that's wishful thinking on my part.”_

The silence that followed was quickly followed by a derisive bark of laughter. In retrospect, it was a poor response, but Genesis hadn't entirely had a reign on his emotions. 

“So” the redhead snorted. “You didn't like Valentine enough to return his feelings, but you liked him enough to fuck him.” He raised an eyebrow. “And, as a result, the paternal name on Sephiroth's birth certificate might be just that...a name.” 

There was the impression of massive internal conflict...of uncertainty, colored with just a hint of scarlet fear. He understood...a little. Hojo would have known, likely would have tested for it immediately purely out of paranoia. The bespectacled scientist wouldn't have told her one way or another, and there was no way she could have asked without confessing to infidelity and subjecting herself to more torment. Lucrecia didn't know any more than they did, save for the fact that it was a possibility. Genesis didn't know if he was disgusted by her or if he admired her. Valentine was-or had been- hot as hell or she was crazy as hell to go behind Hojo's back. Eyeing his partner, the older man acknowledged that Sephiroth didn't get his looks from Hojo... that much was certain.

“No wonder he fought so hard” the former Commander said bitterly. “He knew there was a possibility he was fighting for his fucking _kid._ ” The cold cruelty of it made him look at Lucrecia in disbelief. “You're a right _bitch_ , you know that?!* 

“Be that as it may” Sephiroth cut in, his voice frigid. “I think my main question centers around the fact that you didn't _leave_. And even if you couldn't on your own, why didn't you enlist the help of your paramour to free you?”

 _”Because by the time I understood what I was facing, Vincent was incapacitated”_ Lucrecia's reply was barely a mental whisper. _”I had visions ..of you ..of what you would become. They crippled my ability to think, left me bedridden for days-”_

“-What _kind_ of visions?” the former General interrupted sharply. 

This time the scientist's reply seemed to take an eon to formulate a response....and it seemed to coalesce behind a black, vicious storm of pain. When she spoke, her 'voice’ was choked. 

_” **...Blood...fire….darkness** ”_ Lucrecia whispered. _”Death...more death and the cries of men, women, and children. The planet shriveling…  
robbed of the Lifestream…_ ” she took a gasping breath. _”...And above it all, a dark angel with green eyes….so beautiful...so strong and free...and so **angry**...so confused and manipulated and forgotten.”_ Silence reigned, and when Sephiroth's mother spoke again, Genesis could nearly feel her tears. _”I thought...at the time...that I was feeling the pain of the people you were killing...but I was feeling your pain...your suffering. And I left you, crying and cold in a dark room...I never held you, I never told you I loved you, I never touched your face or kissed your cheeks. I never saw you open your eyes, never saw you crawl or walk, or learn to talk...I never sang you lullabies or held your hand when you were scared of the dark. I gave up on you because I didn't see you...I only saw what you could become...and in running I very nearly created the thing I was trying to avoid.”_

Genesis wanted to scream. 

Really, he wanted to howl at the woman before them. He wanted to shatter her cowardly casing into pieces and _wring her neck_ because how could she?! How _could_ she?! Because of fear?! Because of visions?! The idea of leaving their daughter alone made him physically sick and she wasn't even born yet. Sephiroth was so still beside him he could feel it without even seeing him and he didn't dare look. Because if he did, he would lose.his shit completely. If he looked and saw his lover staring at the ground like a lost fucking child he was going to bring the cave down on top of them. Because the women before them had possibly robbed a father of his son...a son of his parents. She had left him to be tortured, brutalized, and molested. She had left him to wither away at the hands of a monstrous regime and her excuse was _fear_. Genesis swallowed thickly.

'So you abandoned your child because you were afraid of him becoming a monster” the redhead said flatly. When Lucrecia didn't respond, he sneered. “I think that kinda makes you the monster, doesn't it?”

The scientist's mental reply couldn't be described as anything but a blueish silver rain. It was filled with regret...with sorrow...with shame...but he didn't care. 

_“You're not wrong”_ Lucrecia 'whispered.’ Her focus turned once more to Sephiroth. _”But I am sorry....”_

The man in question seemed to flinch away from the statement, seemed to curl into himself even as he raised a hand to cover his belly in a reflexive but clearly protective gesture. Genesis watched as the silver-haired former FIRST blinked at the cave floor, once-twice, before opening his mouth. 

“I…” he said roughy before clearing his throat. “I don't think we have anything else to say to each other.”

And there were a thousand things behind those beautiful beryl irises...things that could not be said but could be seen. Things that Sephiroth had experienced because of his mother's neglect;... he _showed_ them to her then...laid them bare before her like a tapestry of dark agony. Genesis got snippets, but he could sense that the message was mostly for the individual before them, so he tried not to pry, but it was difficult. 

_The ceiling of a dark room...blurry and metallic…a sense of frantic fear, of confusion and sadness and panic….a cold cell...scratchy fabric...the murmur of voices just outside... wondering why he wasn't allowed out. A pinch...many pinches...needles...so many needles... dizziness and sickness and so much mako it seemed to drool out of 'his’ too-small body. Hojo sneering at him, beating him, reciting doctrine, slicing him open when he didn't get it right. ... Hiding in dark corners...in cabinets, shivering and aching...bruised and battered and tired...always tired...always anxious and then always numb. Cruel fingers shoving into him, ripping him apart...a mocking, bespectacled face twisted with madness and it **hurt** it always hurt...and it felt so wrong...felt so personal and private and anything but that...he could do anything to him today but that-_

_**”STOP!”** _

Lucrecia's entreaty was a howl...a thing that shook him to his bones. Her horror and rage were a scarlet, bleeding chasm across his synapses. The scientist recoiled so violently Genesis was nearly left with psychic whiplash. Sephiroth was still staring at the ground. 

“I begged him to stop often” he said, almost idly. “...But he didn't...so I stopped begging.” The younger man rose slowly, encumbered by the convex at his middle. “I suppose I should thank you” he continued. “Because I'm _never_ going to make your mistakes.” A grimace. “However, I don't think I will.” Silver hair trickled over one shoulder as Sephiroth looked up at the woman housed in crystallized mako. “... Goodbye, Lucrecia.” With that, the former General turned and began to head out of the cave before throwing his gaze back at Genesis. “I'm sorry, but I can't stay here, I'll be out front.”

Nodding mutely, the redhead didn't reply but began to gather up their things in a kind if methodological silence. Lucrecia didn't speak again until he was slinging the duffel bag over his shoulder.

_”For what it's worth...I do love him.”_

Already making his way to the cave mouth, Genesis paused and turned his neck somewhat so his voice would carry backwards. 

“I don't think that's worth very much coming from you” the Commander said flatly. 

Outside...the morning sun was filtering in...and his lover's shadow was a long... lonely thing stretching towards him. The older man was fairly determined to make sure that particular shadow was never alone again.

….He left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** You'll notice there are some elements that have been changed since Nepenthe (mainly, Vincent and possible paternity). This isn't a concrete thing, we'll see how I feel, but I kind of want it for personal reasons right now, in terms of their relationship. Again, not set in stone, and even if it is, there's no guarantee they will meet, but I digress. It's midnight so I have to fall into bed directly after this, there may be errors. Also, I began this chapter with the intent of painting Lucrecia in a good light but apparently I'm incapable of that. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> **R &R**


	18. Chapter 18

Icicle Inn seemed like a fool’s errand.

Trudging through heavy snow with the older man beside him...Sephiroth reflected that be that as it may, it was an errand of necessity. He was a SOLDIER, a warrior, a General, a leader, and a tactician, but even he knew his body’s limits. His physicality was exhausted...beyond exhausted. The victory they’d incurred in Lucrecia’s cave was not so much a victory as it was a standoff; a method of preventative delay that would eventually run its course. The silver-haired former FIRST was inundated with dull...achy throbs of pain; not unlike when he was recovering from one of Hojo’s surgical atrocities. He was able to push it to the side in favor of focus...was able to look outwards instead of inwards and concentrate on getting through the next mile...the next several miles. Reaching a point of resiliency-related degradation that made him sensitive to the elements was jarring. Stepping outside the cave mouth days before, the younger man acknowledged, however unwillingly, that he was _cold_. It wasn’t the sense of virulent discomfort...nothing that repelled him in his entirety, but it was still unpleasant. 

In reality, the shift made sense. More of his body’s resources were going to go towards their child the closer they got to the due date. Despite the fact that his blood volume was somewhat higher, it couldn’t compensate for everything. This did-however-confirm his fears regarding their daughter’s biology. Feasibly, a ‘normal’, entirely human child would not demand so much of his physicality. Sephiroth’s dietary needs were higher than the average person, or even the average SOLDIER...pregnant or not. His fellow FIRST’s weren’t exactly dramatically lower to the par than he was, but Genesis had cheerfully proclaimed a few weeks after they met that he was _’quite happy that he didn’t have to put down a quarter of a steer at every meal to stay alive’._ He could-if needed-reserve his energy for long periods of time, but the lack of proper nutrition on the road and the long hours with little sleep were eventually going to take a toll, even on him. Genesis-of course-was not carrying another human being around, so he didn’t have quite as much nutritional upkeep to concern himself about. But they were in a sort of mutual agreement in regards to overall exhaustion.

They took the long way around the Northern Continent to avoid any possible patrols. There was no way that their fight with the djinn could be contributed to anyone other than themselves. It was only logical to assume that security would be tight and that they would have to be more careful. They headed Northwest, nearly to the coast before they pulled back nearer to the rural areas. This proved a fortuitous decision, because they nearly ran headlong into several patrol squadrons twice, and they were forced to get up and leave half of their belongings behind in the dead of night to avoid a duo of search helicopters. Evasion was easier when snow was falling; it covered their tracks and made them harder to locate by air. Genesis had taken to melting a path through the drifts before they realized that it made them more conspicuous than their footsteps ever would. Instead, they settled with skirting trees; using the small, untouched circumferences of bare ground beneath them to befuddle possible pursuers. In all verity, it wasn’t much...not for a more determined tracker...but they did it out of necessity, for their own peace of mind. 

Lucrecia was not a topic that came up.  
Sephiroth was hurt...but he wasn’t so hurt as he’d had been when he thought Genesis had died. The knowledge of this wasn’t comforting, but it at least reassured him that his biological mother had little place in his life or in his heart. He was somewhat more interested in Vincent, because it was quite obvious he’d had no say in his Fate. The former General did wonder, however, why he hadn’t sought him out. This was assuming that he was still alive, of course. It was also assuming that he was his biological father. The idea that he might have access to the entirety of his hereditary line-whether one of them was a corporeal version or not-was somewhat jarring. He didn’t know how to feel about it, and there wasn’t time to think on it, so he tucked it away to consider when they had more leisure on their hands...which could, feasibly, be never.

Genesis was forced to kill a tail they picked up perhaps fifteen days in.

He was young, barely a THIRD, really...obviously eager to please. They made a concentrated effort to lose him for forty-eight hours. Weaving between high and low ground; traversing cave systems, climbing ridges and their shadow was silent but diligent. The only reason they knew he was there in the first place was because he made the mistake of using his comm, which sent Genesis into a blind panic. Thankfully, he’d only used it to check on the position of the squadron he was assigned to, and so they attempted to shake him. On the third day Sephiroth’s companion caught his eyes, and the resigned, despairing, but determined look in those blue irises made his chest clench a little bit. The former General acknowledged that this was either one of his lover’s men or one of Hewley’s men. Whichever one it was didn’t matter, because they were still killing him for no reason other than self-preservation. Genesis took the rifle and doubled back...circumvented him to come up at his rear. When he ran Sephiroth was there to catch him out; to draw Masamune and stop him with the tip of the blade hovering over his throat. 

It was as merciful as possible. 

They dragged him to the treeline, took his tags off him-so they wouldn’t be covered in blood-as he spat curse after curse at them. Removing the standard helmet revealed that he was younger than they’d thought; maybe sixteen or seventeen. When this was revealed Genesis went so pale that Sephiroth thought for a moment that he wouldn’t be able to do it. He recognized the fervor in those dark brown eyes...the earnest determination in his stance, in the words he said. There was some merit to such belief, to such faith in something that you would believe in the honor of it even when the truth of its atrocities was staring you in the face. The former General wondered-offhandedly-what Administration could possibly have told the men about his pregnancy that would excuse killing him despite it. Zack hadn’t told them, and neither of them had deigned to ask. Sephiroth had always thought that ‘merciful’ was a loose term when applied to murder...even when applied to death. The rifle was lined up between those honest, angry and _frightened_ eyes and he couldn’t call it mercy...not anymore.

Genesis’ hands shook when he pulled the trigger.

The gunshot reverberated through the trees; darted between shadowed trunks like a lone clap of thunder. As warm blood sprayed across his face, Sephiroth acknowledged that the thrill of it was absent. He’d always took a small modicum of private pleasure in slaughter...he recognized it occasionally, more often in battle than not. Here..now...with the drip of rubicund spreading across glittering snow-steaming in frigid temperatures-with the slow thump of a failing heart growing steadily slower...there was no such exhilaration. There was only a dull sense of egress...like the flutter of a sparrow’s wings before it flew away into the sky. Here, there was emptiness...the low moan of winter gusts, and the ragged, hysterical tempo of Genesis’ breathing. He was forced to forgo his own remorse to try and calm his partner; had to pry the rifle from stiff fingers so he could put the safety on and place it off to the side. Sephiroth took the older man’s face in his hands; cupped his cheeks and looked at him until he came ‘round. When he did, he shook him off, violently. But the silver-haired ex-FIRST understood that it was a compulsive gesture...because his redheaded companion didn’t feel that he deserved such comfort.

Obscuring the body was pointless.

SOLDIER uniforms were chipped and neither of them were going to go through the trouble of disrobing their victim and dragging his clothes miles off course to cover their tracks. The mere idea of it made Sephiroth feel a little bit nauseous, and Genesis seemed to be of the same mind. Instead, they covered his face with a hankerchief they found in a pocket and backtracked to where he’d made camp to bring his belongings to him. At this point, the redhead was restraining full-body, wracking sobs merely by breathing through his nose and keeping his eyes wide. Sephiroth offered to scout ahead and when the older man nodded wildly in agreement he made as hurried a process of it as possible. He didn’t-however-get far enough before he heard his lover break down in a way that left him a little cold. Because despite how much they both carried each other, they were only two people...and both of them were stretching themselves far beyond their limits or capabilities. 

They didn’t talk about it.

Not because they didn’t understand the gravity of their actions, but because they had done this before. They’d killed for Shinra, and then they’d killed on the farmstead. It was different-of course-killing out of your own volition and not under orders. But they had to move through it...had to push through it because reflecting on it wouldn’t do them any good. Genesis had murdered scientists getting to him and Sephiroth had essentially slaughtered a third of the Planet’s population but the singularity of it was jarring. So much of it was deliberative choice and not based on impulse...even the farmstead was based on impulse...this was careful and calculated. Still...they preserved, and if Genesis’ eyes were red when he rose from his sleeping bag every so often, Sephiroth didn’t comment on it. Someone on the outside might say that it was ‘only one man’. But that was the degree of their desperation; _one man_ could do a world of damage to them merely by existing within their proximity. 

The fact that they had to ameliorate possible damage with certain death only made it worse.

It took them a little under a month to reach Icicle Inn, which was sooner than either of them had predicted but likely quite fortunate because they ran out of food perhaps a day out. Both of them could sustain for a considerably long time without. They did, after all, have an abundance of water; both from whatever rivers were in the area and from the snow-after melting it, of course-which was pretty much everywhere. They reached the outskirts of town near nightfall and when they did, Sephiroth’s spirits sank. There were several patrols in the area; four to be exact, each positioned in terms of directional locale. North, South, East, and West; fully armed and possibly with a considerable amount of backup. There were no citizens on the streets; which immediately made them suspect a mandated curfew. Shinra wasn’t taking any chances with densely populated areas. Icicle Inn was still in the rebuild process, but it didn’t make things any easier.

Skirting the treeline, they’d caught sight of the truck Zack had used to ferry them a ways. It was, however, not an indicator that the younger man was there, or that he would be willing to aid them. It would be-after all-treason to the highest degree were he to help them slip inside the inn and find them a room. Exhaling, Sephiroth rose from the crouch he had adopted and put a hand to the small of his back, grimacing as the pain radiating from the base of his spine didn’t abate. Genesis was fiddling with the strap to the duffel, sitting cross-legged in the snow as sapphire eyes snapped between buildings; likely trying to find the best way in that would garner them the least scrutiny. They were both somewhat messy. Sephiroth was fairly sure they were layered in several weeks’ worth of nature-induced dirt and it had been weeks since he’d bothered to take his hair down at all. Looking at the warm, rectangular windows spilling golden-yellow light onto shimmering snow he couldn’t help an eager shiver run through him at the idea of a bath...or even a hot shower. 

Icicle Inn was perhaps five miles across, and that was stretching it. Despite the haste of attempted reconstruction, the General estimated that perhaps only half of it was populated and the other half was still somewhat derelict. Most of the structures were condominiums of one to two stories with cottage-type exteriors fashioned from horizontal shiplap siding in a warm...tawny shade. Tall masonry chimneys were square in shape over a mix of skillion and gable roofs that were overhung and bedecked with icicles. Some of the structures had wooden balconies facing outwards but it was clear that most of the town was structuralized to face inwards towards the town square. The streetlights were not unlike a traveler’s sign; with a singular large, clear globe perched on the end of each one. There appeared to be a sort of communal parking lot; fashioned out of gravel and on a somewhat higher level than the rest of the terrain. Several sets of stairs led downwards into the public byways. The upper condominiums had large, sweeping staircases with half-wall railings leading to the second floor. These in turn melted into shadowed awnings; some bedecked with greenery, some not. It was deeply remote but somehow peacefully rustic...quiet in the dead of winter but filled with a warmth he couldn’t name.

They weren’t welcome, but it still felt _welcoming_.

Looking at it, Sephiroth acknowledged that the feeling was deceptive. He had slaughtered the population of the town; razed it to the ground without a second thought. Vaguely, he could remember the same roofs alight with flame; could recall the screams of the inhabitants. No, he was not welcome here. He acknowledged with a kind of detached indifference that it was near to or past midwinter; that the greenery being displayed was done so in a holiday type of spirit...but he was too tired and too wary to appreciate it. Genesis seemed to be of the same mind. Rising to his knees, the redhead rummaged around in the duffle bag until he came up with a familiar brown wig and a different jacket. Shrugging his own off, the former Commander pulled the second one on slowly and methodologically, seeming to not really think about the process as he did so. Catching the younger man’s questioning look, he grimaced.

“I’m going to go scout out a path” he replied. When the General made to protest, the look he was given was so weary he shut his mouth. “Seph...please. I need you to stay here….right here. We’re finally somewhere we might be able to be safe for a while. If I can find Zack, we can get a room, and then we can get some food. So just… _please_.” 

He wanted to argue.

Feasibly, it was better that Genesis go alone. It would hasten his progress and bring him back sooner. A part of him was reluctant to let him go like this again...let him put himself forward despite the fact that they were both capable of doing this together. He did, however, have to let the former Commander make such decisions, and he had to acquiesce to them because he wanted that relative symbiosis. He wanted understanding because there was so little left to them other than that. Reaching for the cap he had used before, the younger man tucked his disheveled hair under it the best he could and then nodded, sank down until the snow obscured him from the view of the town somewhat and tried to let his muscles relax. The moment he did so, his partner’s expression softened. Genesis leaned forward to bestow his forehead with a kiss before nudging the duffel bag over a ways so it was closer to him. Looking back once, the redhead smiled before marching towards one of the side-streets with a single-minded focus.

Sephiroth held his breath until he disappeared. 

They were-thankfully-somewhat between the Northern and Eastern guard station. The patrols that came by consisted of one SOLDIER who moved fairly quickly and didn’t double-check the perimeter. Settling down for what he assumed would be a long wait, the silver-haired ex-FIRST attempted to assess his physical state while he did so. The minute he tried, he regretted it. He was sore, incredibly sore, which was to be expected, but he was also malnourished and severely lacking sleep. He’d watched the increasing truth of this drive Genesis steadily closer and closer to hysteria. By his estimate, they had maybe a month before his actual due date. This was good, because he was fairly sure that he wouldn’t be able to handle birth in his current physical state. He felt distinctly disproportionate; like parts-or a part-of him were overly large and others were overly small. The former General was convinced that labor-at this point-would seriously injure him if not kill him. Strangely, he didn’t feel any sort of panic at the idea of death. He was so tired that the idea of falling asleep and failing to wake up again was not frightening in the least. Sephiroth was-however-frightened of the impact his passing would have on Genesis. He couldn’t-in good conscience-embrace death when his partner needed him...when their daughter would need him. And so, he could only desperately hope that his body would wait...or-at the very least-that he would survive.

He was growing concerned by the time Genesis returned.

The former Commander did so slowly, waited at the edge of the passageway between them and spent several minutes watching the rotation of the guard before sprinting back. It occured to Sephiroth that he left no footprints behind and he assumed the redhead used some type of gravitational materia to ameliorate this. He understood then why it had been so important for the older man to go alone; he’d never have managed the spell half as well. Ducking under a low-hanging hemlock branch, the older man skidded to a stop-arms flailing somewhat-before he found his balance by bracing his feet. As he did so, Sephiroth rose-faltered halfway through-and accepted the arm proffered without comment. He took a moment to recover, breathed through a contraction and felt a part of himself despair at what his physicality was clearly wanting to do. By the time he was able to open his eyes and focus, Genesis was watching him warily, his face tight with worry.

“Report” the younger man said raggedly, falling into habituality when his sociability failed him.

For a moment, he feared that Genesis might argue with him. At the very least, he looked like he wanted to make sure that he was alright. When the silver-haired ex-FIRST sent him a pleading glance, he appeared to relent. 

“I found Fair” was the clipped response. “But we’ll have to wait until he’s off shift, maybe twenty minutes. Nearly had a heart attack when he saw me, but he said he’d help. He’s gonna book a room for us and meet us in the foyer of the inn, tell the front desk that he’s under orders to ferry some dignitaries and that they’re not to ask questions.” When Sephiroth gave him a skeptical look, the redhead grimaced. “It’s a stretch, but we can’t wait anymore.” He gave the younger man a pointed look...held it until he looked away. “ _You_ can’t wait anymore, Seph. Practically everything we do fucking throws you halfway into labor again, I’m not stupid. You can put a front up on that pretty face all you want but you’re not fooling me.” 

Swallowing, the former General bared his teeth and shook his head.

“I don’t-” he broke off and squeezed his eyes shut. “-I _can’t_ , it’s too soon...and I don’t think…” Lifting his hand, he scrubbed frantic fingers over his face. “Genesis, I don’t know if I’m going to _survive_ this.” When the scarlet-haired man opened his mouth he made a pained noise. “ _Look at me_ , Genesis. I look like I’ve spent a year in a third-world country. My body can’t...other...other _people_...they’re considerably healthier than I am when they go through this.”

For several long minutes, the older man stared at him. It was impossible to read the emotion behind his eyes, but it seemed both conflicted, apprehensive, and reticent. Despairingly, Sephiroth wondered if he’d finally stunned him into silence. It was-therefore-a surprise when Genesis snorted. 

“So, what?” he scoffed. “You’re mad you’re not somewhat fatter?” The younger man stared at him, flabbergasted, and watched as cerise lips spread into a grin. “C’mon _Seph_. We both know that every woman in the world is not in prime physical shape when she gives birth. There are plenty of woman in desperate situations that have gone through it just fine.” 

“I-I’m not a _woman_ ” Sephiroth spluttered. 

“No shit” was the dry response. His former second-in-command sobered somewhat. “What I’m _trying_ to say it that you’re thinking far ahead right now. Let’s focus on what’s going on now.” 

It was hard to take his advice.

Within him, their daughter stretched until he could feel the imprint of a tiny foot just below his navel; she’d dropped at some point last week. It was a strange feeling, a bit like having something very large and inconvenient in his pelvic region, and his need to use the facilities was ridiculous. There was, however, the truth that she was very much alive...and-at least for now-seemingly well. The discomfort wasn’t forefront when he looked at it that way. And he knew that some might see his lover’s point as somewhat insensitive, mostly because of the pain, and because of the uncertainty but he’d never taken to coddling or reassurance. They had-in any case-discussed their concerns at length; had sat down and gone over everything multiple times. To do so again would be detrimental to their progress, would bring up uncertainties that both of them were already aware of but couldn’t change. A long-fingered hand cupped his cheek, and Sephiroth refocused on the present. Genesis was peering at him through the fringe of his hair; sapphire irises filled with a deep, tolerant sort of affection.

“It’s going to be okay, Seph.”

He wanted to believe that, he really did.

Opening his mouth to reply, the younger man was cut off when a set of fireworks erupted in the distance; towards the Southern perimeter. This was followed by a chorus of cheers and the SOLDIER doing a perimeter run before them hesitated and looked somewhat longingly towards them before seeming to come to a split-second decision. The man in question slung his rifle over his shoulder and spoke hastily into his comm. Whatever he said was met with a swift response, and he gave a whoop of excitement before taking off at a jog in the direction of the display. 

“That’s our cue” Genesis hissed. 

Without preamble, the redhead bent to scoop up the duffle bag before gesturing impatiently for Sephiroth to follow him. Coming out of the treeline, they skirted across the open space and into the alleyway beyond. Here, it was darker, and it was strange to be surrounded by inhabited dwellings. It had to be near midnight, however, and the former General wondered how Fair had convinced _anyone_ to set off fireworks past a mandated curfew. Then again, it was Fair, so maybe he’d done it himself and then let his exuberance catch on. Coming out of the sidestreet they were greeted with the main square. It was more of a circle, however, surrounded on all sides by condos buried in drifts of snow with a frozen fountain in the middle. The Inn was to the left; down a somewhat steep gravel path surrounded by shrouded, long-needled and low growing pine trees. The structure itself was cohesive with the architecture of the rest of the town save for the fact that it was clearly larger; but it remained only two stories. Two glass double doors that were mosaic in make were framed by lantern-esque lights...set inwards somewhat from the porch and up a set of three wide stairs. Genesis went first...turning the knob and pushing the frame inwards. 

Fair was waiting for them, as promised.

‘The Puppy’ was standing a ways’ away from the desk, and his expression was deceptively casual. He was dressed in standard cold weather expedition gear and when he caught sight of them the grin he gave them was just on the side of too-wide. The reception desk was-unsurprisingly-empty; whoever was currently manning it had obviously decided to go and watch the fireworks as well. A black-gloved hand waved cheerily before diving into a pocket, and for a moment Sephiroth stiffened. It was out of instinct really, but he didn’t miss the wounded expression he received in return. Forcing himself to relax, the former General watched as Angeal’s protegee produced a set of keys and tossed them to Genesis, who caught them and nodded perfunctorily. 

“Your room’s to the right” the dark-haired SECOND said idly. “Six down and off to the side, they’re pretty spacious.” A dark brow was raised. “Not a lot of visitors.” Blue eyes shifted to Sephiroth. “You look...kinda sick.” 

“It’s good to see you too Zackary” Genesis sniffed, sailing past him. “But less talk, more going for the moment.” 

“Right!” was the cheery response. “This way.” Making their way to the back, they were greeted with a fairly long carpeted hallway; wood-of course-like the rest of the building. The overall atmosphere was quiet and warm...there was even a fire crackling in an inlet on the other end of the hall. It had been so long since he’d actually felt any type of physical temperance that he nearly turned around, but forced himself to continue out of sheer force of will. Their rooms were indeed off to the side; quite a ways away from the rest and the door leading to them was heavy oak...clearly built to be discreet and he took some comfort from that. “I told housekeeping not to call, that you’re foreign and very suspicious.” Fair continued as Genesis turned the lock. “I also may have mentioned you were armed and paranoid.” 

“That’s...not exactly inaccurate” Sephiroth replied in a rare show of humor. 

Zack grinned as the door swung open.

The suite was beautiful.

Sephiroth was not sentimental about rooms, but he was so grateful for this one that everything about it seemed fantastical. Upon entering, the kitchenette was sequestered and to the left...with an island overhung by a row of glass cabinets. The decorations were a bit of a throwback; something from decades earlier with shaggy rugs, patterned wallpaper and dried flowers arranged artfully here and there. The floors were a smooth limestone; obviously heated but not overly-so. Directly before the kitchen was a small dining room with a circular wooden table surrounded by four chairs of similar make. This looked out onto a snow-strewn patio that could be viewed or obscured with long-slat-like blinds. To the left was the living area; a small space with only enough room for a couch and two puffy armchairs that were lime green in color. There was also a fireplace fashioned from stone that looked similar to the flooring; above the mantle, the wall was made with dark wood paneling that followed a V-shape up to the ceiling. Beyond this was the bedroom; running somewhat parallel with the porch. The bed appeared to be iron in make; four poster with a naked canopy. The coverlets were a rich navy blue and that was about as far as the former General was willing to observe. He did note that there was a bathroom attached and he vowed to use that later, but his main goal was to kick off his boots and sit down somewhere. 

“It’s amazing.” Genesis was-he decided-the perfect candidate for voicing both of their opinions. The redhead slung their duffel bag down onto the mattress and turned to face Zack, who was looking quite pleased with himself. Running a hand through his hair, the scarlet-haired ex-FIRST sighed before tilting his head. “We have...a considerable amount to discuss. However, if possible, I’d like to do it tomorrow. Sometime when you’re off shift...late in the day.” 

“No problem” Fair said, looking sympathetic. “And guys, please. If you need anything, just tell me. I had a dinner placed in the fridge and I’ll come back with breakfast. I have the other set of keys so if you’re still asleep I’ll just leave it on the counter.” 

With those words, Sephiroth nearly melted into floor with something resembling relief.

“That” he said hoarsely. “Sounds perfect. Thank you.” 

For a moment, the youngest of their trio looked sincerely surprised at his gratuity. Then, to his sincere horror, he looked like he might cry, but he thankfully gathered himself fairly well.

“Man, this was the least I could do” he said, somewhat gruffly for an individual of such cheerful affectation. “For the shit I pulled before, and then for everything you guys have gone through.” Ruffling spiky locks, he straightened. “I’ll leave you guys to it. Have a goodnight.”

Both of them murmured something along the lines of the same as he left, observing as the door shut with a snap and the sound of booted footsteps retreated. When all was quiet, the silver-haired ex-First nearly tore himself out of his coat, threw it to the floor and yanked his footwear off in much the same manner. His lover watched him do so with a kind of affectionate amusement before he moved to do the same, albeit with slightly less chaos and more order. And it was a _relief_ to get out of it all...to toss away the clothes he’d been wearing for weeks on end until he was in nothing but a pair of baggy fatigues and a long-sleeved undershirt. He hadn’t-however-really seen himself in so little in quite a long time...and he was somewhat thrown off by the swell at his middle. It caught his attention while he was reaching for a brush, and it forced him to pause. Swathed in noir fabric, the curvature of his abdomen was such a prominence that he hysterically wondered if he’d ever get back to the way he used to be. He was-admittedly-distracted when he caught Genesis looking at him like he was something he’d like to eat, and his body’s response was so immediate and so forthcoming he blushed to the roots of his hair. At this, the older man breathed out and appeared to reign himself in, a grin curving his lips nevertheless.

“I think” he said slowly. “We’d better shower and have dinner before I decide that neither one is a necessity.” Blue eyes narrowed. “And then I’m going to take you apart on that bed.” 

Against his will, Sephiroth felt himself smile as well.

They did, and _Genesis_ did, and when it was over he slept so soundly that an outsider might have thought he was dead. When he woke up, the afternoon sun was spilling across the coverlets and he’d never felt so comfortable or so content in his life...but maybe that was what hardship did to you...maybe it made you more grateful for the little things. And when Genesis opened his eyes and smiled through disheveled scarlet hair and a four-o-clock shadow, he felt-for once-content.

Such contentment...however...could only last so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Sorry it's been so long. In truth, I got caught up in gaming, and it was possibly one of the worst mistakes I've made in my life. Then the holiday season started and I got lazy and it was just downhill from there, as they say. The semester started a few days ago and sort of kicked me in the ass to what I was wasting my time doing, so I'm hopefully going to be around more as time progresses. On to the chapter; the end may feel rushed, but I sincerely hope not. This was an interesting chapter to write, just because not much happens in it? But I knew when I started Nepenthe and then when I continued into Miasma that I didn't want to jump from event to event; that I wanted to let things play out as they come. So, regardless, I had fun with this, and thank you for reading. I hope you all had a great Holiday and a great New Year. 
> 
> **R &R**


	19. Chapter 19

They had about three weeks of relative peace.

Looking back on it, Genesis couldn’t help but wonder at how large a stretch of time they’d been provided considering everything that was going on around them. The months before that had proffered them nothing but brief reprieves; breathless, desperate gasps of quiet between howling, tempestuous storms of worry, hunger, displacement, and fear. Every time they stopped to rest, it seemed like something nameless was creeping up behind them. A dark...ominous cloud of metaphorical cataclysm that they couldn’t shake pursued them like the inevitable sweep of the tide. It was hard to be calm in the face of something that you couldn’t name or identify with concrete surety...when you were always niggled by the idealism of disaster with no clear picture of what or when that disaster would be. Sometimes they were worried about Shinra, sometimes it was the elements around them, and sometimes it was the mere looming reality of their impending parenthood. There were a multitude of things to worry about that they couldn’t solve, but were forced to consider nonetheless.

The initial days were spent in a kind of anxious stasis. On the morning of the first, Genesis woke to find Sephiroth looking at him like he fully expected him to disappear within the next few minutes. Beryl irises were fixed upon him as if he was something wrought from his imagination and not an individual of solid flesh. It was a bit strange, really. They’d spent so _much_ time with each other and only each other that the idea of one of them vanishing in a puff of smoke was almost ludicrous, but the fear was still there. He supposed that it could come from the ingrained supposition that disaster was imminent no matter how hard they tried to avoid it. Amplified by the inevitable birth of their child, that feeling was only multiplied tenfold. It was strange to try and fall into some semblance of normalcy; to adjust to understanding that despite the fact that everything outside of their hotel room was as far from normal as possible, they had to try and live normally.

From what Zack had told them, and from what they could see, Shinra had stationed extra troops in major towns on the Northern Continent simply because they were speculated to be there. Icicle in was a central hub for the men and the fact that they were-essentially-taking a rest behind enemy lines never escaped them. They never left the room, and they never ventured outside the parameters of the fenced-in yard...which they only used in the very early morning or very late at night. Whatever alibi Angeal’s protegee had told the staff seemed to be effective because they were never disturbed, and Fair was quick to help them with fetching towels and doing laundry whenever it was needed. He brought up their groceries personally, and if he didn’t have time to on an odd day, they utilized whatever leftovers were in the fridge. The youngest of their duo turned trio also provided them with a deck of cards, a few assorted books, several old films he’d likely nicked off of his fellow SOLDIERS, a blank journal and some pencils, and a very dilapidated chess set. At first, Genesis hadn’t really understood the significance of the gesture until he found himself so incredibly bored he could hardly stand it. They spent many a good night honing their logical strategies over the chessboard and trying to best each other’s poker face with the deck of cards. The former Commander occasionally utilized the journal but Sephiroth was never one to sit down and write for no reason other than paperwork so he didn’t do it very often.

They ended up postponing their meeting with Zack in order to take several days to catch their figurative breath. Sephiroth was tired...Genesis was tired and they spent a good amount of time doing absolutely nothing but lying around staring at the ceiling and occasionally talking to each other. There was something oddly satisfying about seeing his partner idle. He supposed that in any other setting it would be a strange thing for him to say, but in this particular situation, he was grateful. Being able to look over and see Sephiroth sitting at the kitchen table barefoot, with his feet up and a pair of sweatpants on made something in his chest that seemed chronically anxious and tight loosen a little bit. It was-if possible-harder for the former General to relax than it was for him. He wasn’t entirely sure why...though he guessed that it was maybe out of an ingrained sense of self-preservation. The younger man had dark circles under his eyes until about the third night, and he didn’t eat well until the fifth.

On the seventh day, Zack sat down with them to go over the circumstances of the birth. He was able to provide Genesis with shield materia to muffle out any extraneous sounds and curagas to manage anything that might go wrong, but they were-obviously-unable to get a midwife. The dark-haired SECOND offered to stay in order to help but Genesis refused and Sephiroth _vehemently_ refused. From what he’d witnessed already, birth was an intensely personal, intensely _private_ experience...especially to someone as private as his partner. There was nothing the youngest of them could do to help, and therefore there was no reason for him to be there. Fair looked distinctly anxious at the idea of the both of them going through something so vital alone, but at the same time seemed to understand their viewpoint. From there, their conversation turned to what they were going to do afterward. Zack had sent word to Aerith, but his contacts were few and it would be some time before he got a reply. The ways in and out of Midgar were swarming with SOLDIERs, and security checkpoints were so tight that it took an hour to get through them at the best of times. 

_“It doesn’t feel like a city anymore”_ ‘the Puppy’ had said grimly, toying with his coffee mug. “It feels like a state of war.”

It was hard for them to hear it. Harder because they’d worked so hard to secure Shinra’s iron fist without knowing what it really was. The defection of two major public interests had stirred unrest among the public. There were concerns about an uprising so HQ instated and inforced global curfew, restricted travel for leisure and ramped up patrols. A bipartisan, mostly peaceful group known as AVALANCHE was uprooted and their leaders were executed publicly...violently. It was-by Genesis’ knowledge-the first time that Shinra had exercised their power to such an absolute degree. His heart ached for those who had tried to gain something better for the sake of the people only to be driven into the ground by what they had once believed in. It might have been different if he’d stayed, but he wouldn’t have had an opportunity- _they_ wouldn’t have had an opportunity-to have a family otherwise. He was also unsure of whether he and Angeal could have taken down HQ by themselves; they _needed_ someone of Sephiroth’s physical and mental caliber in order to succeed. He was loathe to put his lover on a pedestal, loathe to admit his own weakness in a situation that was so dire...but he had to. 

For now, he had to focus on the present.

And the present was painfully indicative of the fact that Sephiroth could give birth any day. When the silver-haired former first was able to relax somewhat, he went from tense to exhausted so quickly it alarmed him. Sephiroth slept a lot, except when he was hungry or when he took his daily shower, and despite all the things that Zack brought up for them, there was very little time when the green-eyed former General was awake enough to utilize them. Genesis knew that he needed the rest for what was to come, but there was a part of him that insisted that there was something _wrong_ with the fact that his ‘superior officer’ had turned into a sloth. His lover had never been an idle man, but right now his physicality was changing to prepare for birth and there was very little he could do about it. They talked a little bit regarding the subject; threw names back and forth but couldn’t find one that felt right. Neither of them had parents they particularly wanted their progeny to be christened after, and Angeal had made it clear that they would both suffer if they named their daughter after him. 

Despite it all, there were still times to cherish.

Waking up to see Sephiroth sprawled across the sheets, silver hair tangled this way and that...all hard lines and soft skin up until the prominent curve of their child...there was something about it that made Genesis feel like he was the luckiest man in the world. The younger man wasn’t particularly affectionate one way or another, but his silhouette by the fire was something that he would always remember. And there were good days...days when they did nothing but curl up into each other in the warmth of the coverlets until it was impossible to tell where one of them began and the other ended. Mornings...bright...sometimes seemingly gossamer mornings when the swell of Sephiroth’s belly was close enough that he could feel the baby move...could feel the outline of a tiny foot along his spine. A part of him wondered at that; felt small and insignificant yet somehow _more_ just because he was able to experience it. 

There were bad days too.

...There were bad nights. Nights when he awoke from black nightmares, his throat tight with the scream that was fighting its way up into his mouth. Days when he couldn’t shake the sense of awful foreboding that lay heavy on him wherever he went. Accompanied with the foreboding was a sense of terrible loss, of aching grief and emptiness that had no source. More than ever now, he was frightened of losing what he had. Genesis wasn’t a coward, there were few things that scared him, and in the past, he could safely and confidently say that death and demise were natural parts of life that affected everyone, including him. He was-first and foremost-a SOLDIER; it was in his makeup down to his bones and the idea of dying on the battlefield had-at the time-seemed like a glorious one. Now, however, he had more to consider than himself...more to consider that _Sephiroth_ and the idea of losing that because he’d been idle in his observances was chilling. He knew he was being irrational with his concerns...knew that obsessing over them would only slow him down...would slow _them_ down...but he couldn’t help it. Not when it seemed like so much was riding on his shoulders. And really, he wasn’t alone in it, but he didn’t want to overburden his partner who-as far as he was concerned-had enough to be overburdened with. 

“Checkmate.”

Genesis blinked and attempted to drag his thoughts back to the present. Before him, the chessboard was littered with various pieces but he hardly remembered playing the game. Sephiroth had leaned back in one of the low-slung armchairs, emerald eyes glittering as he watched him observantly...understandingly. Once again, the younger man looked somewhat healthier. Their time in the wild had taken its toll, and it was good to see him gain some measure of color to his physicality, but he’d have like to have seen more. The former General was dressed simply in a T-shirt and sweatpants; one hand braced idly over his middle which was-by the redhead’s reckoning-significantly lower than it had been in weeks prior. He knew that Sephiroth wouldn’t tell him if the baby had dropped, wouldn’t inform of the fact despite the truth that he wouldn’t mind knowing. And someone without the enhanced abilities that mako gave him wouldn’t have noticed...maybe wouldn’t have even seen the way his lover held himself. Differently...almost apprehensively and Genesis wished there was something he could say to ease his worry...but at the same time, he knew that there was nothing to do either way but wait. 

Feasibly, the time for waiting was running out.

There were small things...small indicative atmospheric and reactional facets he had noticed over the past few days that told him that birth was less an impending thing than it was an _immediate_ thing. Sephiroth moved more carefully, was far more ginger with himself than someone with a military background would be, pregnant or not. The silver-haired former FIRST had asked Zack to bring up extra towels and water...had requested a heating pad and at one point the redhead had watched Angeal’s protegee ferry a wooden bucket into the bathroom with nary a word to him. There were items beginning to clutter up various surfaces that neither of them would ever use; small, soft square blankets, containers of formula, and glass infant bottles. Taking his cue from the signs, Genesis pulled together his knowledge from the vast array of books he’d read and ‘put in an order’ for a rectal thermometer, a nasal aspirator, several boxes of newborn diapers and even more packets of wipes. Zack had to bring the whole of it in in increments...sometimes very late at night so as not to cause suspicion...but eventually, it was all there. The dark-haired SOLDIER had even managed to find a wicker basket that could serve as some type of cradle. 

“You’re thinking about this too hard.” 

Taking a deep breath, the older man looked at his lover and tried to settle his expression into something neutrally questioning. Almost immediately, Sephiroth’s expression turned wry and he gestured at his middle.

“Genesis...if there’s anything that’s on your mind...now would be the time.”

There was a finality to the statement that brought him up short. Suddenly far more alert than he had been, the scarlet haired ex-First sat up and searched his lover’s face...noting the tenseness in his posture...the manner in which he was sitting. Every so often the silver-haired man would stiffen like he was experiencing pain but was making a monumental effort to hide it. Sweat beaded overtop cerise lips and his pallor was flushed...though not with arousal or exertion...not the exercise-related kind of exertion anyway. Some part of him wanted to wail that Sephiroth hadn’t _told_ him...that he hadn’t given any outward sign. ...But at the same time he hadn’t exactly been looking either, and there _had_ been signs...he’d just been doing his best to remain in a constant state of denial. Almost immediately, panic suffused him; crawled its way down his throat and settled in his gut.

“So soon?!” he blurted out. 

A silver brow winged upward.

“I’ve been fighting labor for nearly a month and you think it’s _’soon’_?” he replied exasperatedly. “I can barely walk straight, I feel like I’m twice my standard size, and I’m continuously tired. I can’t wait anymore.” 

“You act like you have some sort of control over it” the redhead fired back. “Like you can hold it off at will and you’re sitting here going through prelabor just because you’ve decided _’oh hell, might as well get this shit over with’.”_

He had the sincere displeasure of watching the former General’s expression settle into resigned impassiveness, which was fairly indicative that he’d hit the nail on the head. And he wanted to shout _’no fucking way’_ but there was a part of him that despairingly acknowledged that _of course_ Sephiroth had some say over his biological proclivities. He was-after all-not entirely human. It was terrifying and confusing, the fact that he might be hours-or even minutes-away from parenthood and that he wasn’t at all ready for it. Shifting in his seat, he ran a trembling hand through his hair; suddenly all sweat and nerves and apprehension.

“What about the cave then?” he snapped. “What was all that? You didn’t seem to have much control then.” 

The younger man sighed and let the back of his skull thump against the headrest, a slight vein of irritation suffusing his features before he could stop it.

“I lost control,” he said flatly. “And by the time I was able to get a reign on it, I was too far gone.” When Genesis opened his mouth again, he shook his head. “Genesis, I’m not ready either, but my body is ready; it’s _been ready_ and I’m exhausted.” 

He didn’t know what to say.

There was some undeniably terrified part of him that wanted to run screaming from the room. If it were anyone else sitting across from him, he might have. But of course it was Sephiroth he had to knock up, and of course, it was Sephiroth who was going to sternly and solemnly go through the initial throes of birth as long as was decorously possible. Genesis was accosted with the desire to slap him just because he was being far too fucking serious about it but he could never in good conscience assault someone who was pregnant. And who the hell played _chess_ while they were going through labor?! Who the hell played chess while going through labor and proceeded to _win?!_ Sitting back, the scarlet-haired man blinked and then had to force down an incredulous laugh because his life was _weird_. His partner shifted and the older man’s focus immediately returned to him, but the former General was merely taking a slow drink from the glass of water he had on the table. 

“So what now?” he demanded. “Do you need to like… _lie down or something?!_ ”

The amusement that flashed across Sephiroth’s face was one part tender and one part indulgent. Shaking his head, the younger man reached for the chessboard and began to put the pieces up once more.

“I think I could wipe the board with you one more time” was the idle reply.

_Fine._

He thought something fairly cranky along the lines of aliens and babies before leaning forward again to start the next game. In the end, they played two rounds, with the former Commander coming out on top at the last and his lover at the first. Each round lasted approximately two hours and it was _torturous_. To be fair, by the time the older man declared ‘checkmate’, Sephiroth was in a considerable amount of discomfort and very distracted. It was really a miracle they were able to play at all considering overall nerves and various states of panic and-in Sephiroth’s case-pain. Exasperatedly, the scarlet-haired former SOLDIER wondered why everything involving the silver-haired man had to involve some type of power struggle. Acceding to his win, the former General stood only to go ghost-white and grip the arm of his chair; moonlight-colored locks spiderwebbed over one shoulder as the younger man hunched over...a dark stain seeping into the otherwise light grey of the sweatpants he was wearing. It swiftly spread downwards before petering out...not red with blood, but indicative nevertheless.

Genesis supposed he ought to be thankful that whatever he’d done using the Curaga in Lucrecia Cave had replenished his lover’s amniotic fluid. As it was, his mind went momentarily blank with a crazed kind of panic before he practically leapt across the table to try and offer support. Sephiroth seemed to tolerate the grip he applied to his arm purely because he was distracted. Taking several deep breaths, emerald eyes narrowed into slits before their owner straightened and put a hand to the base of his spine...grimacing as he did so. It was by some unspoken agreement that they made their way to the bedroom. Once there, the younger man untangled himself in order to fetch a new pair of pants...stripping the ruined ones off and throwing them in the wash basket. He seemed to hesitate a moment before changing his trajectory from the bureau to the bathroom, disappearing into the dimly lit space before re-emerging with a floor-length bathrobe and a resigned expression. It was, the former Commander acknowledged...probably better than constantly changing. He’d never seen his lover wear a robe in his life, but right now it was the easiest garment they had available to them. 

“I’m going to walk a while, Genesis.”

The aforementioned individual frowned and glanced at the windows of the hotel room. It was-by his reckoning-quite late...a little past 2300 if his internal clock didn't betray him. It was a risk to walk the yard at any time of the day or night, even more of a risk with someone who could collapse or yell at any given moment. He knew, however, that it would expedite the process...though it surprised him a bit that Sephiroth knew it as well. Resisting the idea of it wouldn’t do either of them good in any case, and fresh air was always something that was needed. Watching as the younger man pulled on his overcoat, some socks, gloves, and boots...he reflected that it was a tad _cold_ to go outside wearing so little...but he doubted they would be ‘away’ for long regardless. 

He was wrong.

Sephiroth paced the area in and around the porch for forty-five minutes. The space itself was simplistic; the sitting area overshadowed by a weeping white pine heavy with snow. Beyond the wooden pillars of the porch was mostly blank space...though he supposed that it must be fairly more decorated in spring and summer. As it was...there was only a glittering, rectangular expanse of white surrounded by a heavy wooden privacy fence. Fresh flakes had to have fallen at some point during their game because the tracks the two of them had made early that morning were gone...erased like so much dust. Genesis remained under the overhanging, watching as his lover’s breath plumed in soft clouds before him while he made his rounds. The stars were incredibly bright above...cold and twinkling...like ominous forebearers of what was to come. When the crunch of boots was indicative of the younger man’s return, the redhead took one look at his face and put his foot down. Sephiroth was flushed but his eyes were glittering and feverish...pained and distant.

“Seph,” he said quietly. “Come lie down.” 

For once, he didn’t protest.

From there it was a slow trek back to the bedroom. Once there, the redhead took a moment to strip the bed of everything but the fitted sheet...ferried towels from the bathroom and laid them down over the mattress. He was thankful-not for the first time-that the bed in of itself was a platform. There wasn’t a headboard for the younger man to smash himself into if he got too distracted, and there were plenty of pillows between the head and the wall. Taking advantage of the dimmer that they otherwise had not utilized, Genesis made sure that the lights were low enough that they wouldn't be blinding, but not so low that they were a distraction. Sephiroth got rid of his extra layers mechanically until he had returned to his bathrobe-clad state. Crawling onto the bed, the former General paused as a contraction wracked him...spine bowing as he pressed his forehead into the mattress and exhaled raggedly. Gathering a handful of Curaga and shield materia, the older man wished there was something he could do to ease his pain, but there were no epidurals here...no pain relievers and alcohol was out of the question. On a whim, Genesis fetched a glass of water and a pitcher from the kitchen and then ran the bath so he could fill the wooden tub with warm water. Snatching up some washcloths, the redhead returned to find his lover propped up among the pillows, his face a mask of concentration. 

“You don’t have to do that.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them...were thick with a kind of shared pain even though he hadn’t meant to say them out loud. Beryl irises flashed to him, widened in a kind of hazy questioning before a long-fingered hand rose to cover a grimacing mouth. “Hide your pain” he ameliorated gently. “I know...I know this isn’t like anything on the battlefield. You don’t have to be so fucking brave all the time, Seph.” When the aforementioned man merely looked somewhat desperate, he sighed. “Not that I don’t love you for it, but...don’t be so hard on yourself.” 

Words were-of course-not enough to sway the 'Great General Sephiroth's' mind.

It was perhaps another thirty minutes before the silver-haired ex-FIRST forewent decorum...and it was-so Genesis assumed-when his body began to urge him to push. The silence in the room was deafening in any case...was far too thick for him to be comfortable with it, so when his lover groaned he was almost relieved...because at least this was going _somewhat_ as he expected. Those long legs bent at the knee as silver brows drew together...as adroit fingers bunched in the coverlets and familiar breath came in tight, short gasps before the contraction passed. Gingerly, the redhead placed the bucket next to the bed-on the side closest to his partner-before sitting down on the mattress next to him. Green eyes flickered towards him but didn’t really seem to acknowledge him. Running a hand over somewhat sweaty platinum locks, Genesis made a soft, soothing sound in the back of his throat. Seemingly without thought, Sephiroth leaned into him...let his forehead rest on the redhead’s shoulder before he made an aborted, tight exclamation as his physicality betrayed him once more. 

“You’re doing so good,” Genesis said quietly, feeling somewhat pathetic for having nothing better to say. When this didn’t seem to distract the younger man, he continued. “Do you remember that mission to the Grasslands we had? When Lazard decided he was going to front one of the invasions and put you in with the footmen?” Sephiroth grunted disgustedly, shivered slightly and nodded his head in a lolling, purely reflexive manner. “I don’t suppose you liked waking up to so many frogs in your bedroll.”

“I-” Sephiroth cut himself off and groaned again...louder this time. Sweat beaded across that perfect brow, silver hair sticking to the sides even as the former General attempted to speak. The fingers on Genesis’ arm abandoned it to splay across the swell of his abdomen before-apparently-trying to rip the sheets asunder. “ _I should have had you court-martialed for that”_ was the growled conclusion. “Insubordinate tart.” 

Despite the gravity of the situation, the older man laughed. Chuckling, he lifted a long-fingered hand so he could kiss his way over the knuckles.

“Well, considering your station on that particular assignment, I think you’d have had a very hard time doing so.” 

“Would’ve managed it” was the mumbled, exhausted reply. 

Smiling gently, Genesis aceded defeat.

“More than likely” he agreed good-naturedly. 

They weren’t able to speak much from that point onward...Sephiroth was too focused...to inwardly fixated to really formulate any kind of response. The proclivities of his biology had taken over for him, and at one point Genesis had to talk him out of crawling into the closet so he could give birth in a close, secluded space. Other than that, there were only a few brief gasps of peace...sometimes when the younger man went to the facilities, another time when he fell into a kind of restless slumber while Genesis went to fetch more water only to have to shake him awake, eyes wide with panic. 0100 crept into 0200...0300 into 0400...the hours seemed like water under his fingertips...like grains of sand slipping into the stem of an hourglass impossibly fast. Blood began to seep into the towels and with each contraction, the former General seemed to grow ever more weary.

It was taking too long.

He knew-from reading-that birth could take an exorbitant amount of time...but Sephiroth was clearly struggling. He was colorless from the loss of hemoglobin and he appeared to be on the brinks of losing consciousness. It was agonizing to watch him struggle, to see those beautiful features contort themselves into a pained grimace as his body was wracked with effort. Genesis held his hand even if it felt like his bones were grinding apart from the strength of his grip. Out of sheer desperation, he cast a curaga and that seemed to ease things for a while...but it also seemed to slow down the labor process so he didn’t do it again. 

It was 0530 when Zack came knocking and the redhead roared at him to _’get the fuck out’_. Fair did, but he only went as far as the front door...the former Commander could hear him pacing outside in the hall and some part of him that was eternally biased towards the younger man softened a little bit. Because he had gone to great lengths, at great risk to life and limb to provide for them, to give them a safe space...and despite the fact that they’d never been close it was clear that he saw them as family...because Aerith was family and by extension so were they. He wanted to apologize but the minute the thought crossed his mind Sephiroth stiffened and a hoarse, incredulous exclamation left his lips. Wetness suffused the fitted sheet and Genesis scrambled to get between his legs, to yank up the robe so he could try and see how things were progressing. He hadn’t done so before because the younger man hadn’t given him any sort of cue, but now was not the time for politeness. 

They had minutes...maybe less. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Genesis reached for the bucket and washcloths, did his best to provide some semblance of cleanliness. Sephiroth bore down, a gutteral noise spilling from his throat and he cast around desperately for a topic...for something to address...something to talk about even as he readied his hands to cradle the head of their daughter.

“We haven’t thought of a name” he blurted out. Sephiroth gave him a look that clearly said _’what the hell are you on about?!’_ before his eyes scrunched tightly shut and he braced both hands on the mattress below him, leaned forward and began to push in earnest. “I was thinking Murine” the redhead continued letting one hand stroke up the alabaster length of a thigh...squeezing in a manner he hoped was comforting. “But I don’t think it fits.” 

Apparently unable to reply, the former General threw back his head and exhaled in a manner that was not a little on the edge of a yell before the sound quickly morphed into a deep groan. There was an oleaginous noise as he tilted his pelvis, a small...warm and-admittedly-gross shape spilling into his palms. The sob that left Sephiroth’s throat then seemed involuntary...seemed dredged from the very depths of his being as he collapsed into the pillows and shivered uncontrollably. Frozen...holding the squirming, red-ridden bundle that was their daughter, the Commander was frozen in shock. Only when a thin, high wail pierced the air did he remember how to breathe again. Because she was _here_ and she was so small...so incredibly small. Rather average by infant standards but still _little_ and warm and he didn’t know what to _do_ except sit there and stupidly look at her nose which was so much like Sephiroth’s it made his eyes tear up. Long, miniscule fingers and toes…a thatch of hair that was _red_ and _Gaia_ -!

“Seph…”

His voice was strangled, thick with incredulity and something that felt like grief but also felt like joy. Like falling into a warm...bright hole with nothing at the end of it but that scrunched up face and oddly cone-shaped head. And despite it, the only thing running through his mind was _’beautiful’_...so beautiful it left him choked and desperate and frightened; though of what, he didn’t know. It barely registered when Sephiroth struggled to right himself; when he motioned with trembling, somewhat desperate fingers to hold her. When he realized what his lover was trying to get him to do, Genesis handed her over automatically, thoughtlessly...because of course he should get to hold her...he’d carried her for so long...for nearly _two years_...of course he would want to...of course he _deserved_ to. Regaining his brain powers, the redhead leapt from the bed to fetch a warm washcloth, a towel, a diaper, and a swaddling blanket. As he did so, Sephiroth made a soft, crooning noise that he didn’t think he’d ever heard coming from him before. When the older man returned bearing his gifts, the former General took them without comment, tasked himself with cleaning their daughter even though he was bone-white and practically swaying where he sat. 

This woke Genesis to the fact that the bed was a mess, that his partner who had just given birth to their child was equally a mess, and for several minutes his mind was a haze of nothing but trying to right the wrong of his antiseptic-related missteps. In the end, the towels were thrown out, the sheet and comforter were returned and Sephiroth was wearing a new pair of pants and a T-shirt. His middle seemed abnormally flat...though it certainly wasn’t the picture of masculine perfection it used to be...and wouldn’t be for some time. Holding their daughter, Sephiroth was so beautiful that it made Genesis’ chest hurt. He took a moment to go inform Zack, who promptly burst into tears, hugged him wildly and then promised he’d be back later in the afternoon before sprinting off, presumably to find some way to contact Aerith. Upon his return, he found the General trying to get out of bed with their daughter in one arm and a bottle in the other. After scolding him thoroughly, the redhead went to fetch the bottle himself...followed the directions on the container of formula before passing the aforementioned item over to his lover, who set it on the bedside table and then leaned back into the pillows once more. 

There were several moments of silence...a calm...tranquil kind of silence that he couldn’t bring himself to break. The baby sighed and made a strangely endearing smacking sound with her lips before nuzzling into Sephiroth’s shirt...and the way those green eyes went soft was enough to leave Genesis trembling with a kind of affection he’d never known before.

“Saoirse” Sephiroth said softly. 

Genesis blinked and raised his head.

“Mm?”

“Saoirse” the younger man repeated. 

The redhead considered the title...felt a small smile creep across his lips as he did so.

“It means liberty, did you know that?” he asked quietly. Beryl irises swept to him...regarded him with a solemn kind of silence...and the former Commander acknowledged that yes...he did know. “I think it’s perfect.” Swallowing he continued. “Sephiroth, _thank you_.” Reaching forward, he grasped the silver-haired man’s free hand, squeezed it emphatically. “I love you, so much.” 

Slowly, a head of platinum locks shook back and forth.

“You did as much as me” was the deep, baritone response. “You carried me- _us_ -through this...you didn’t have to, but you did. I’m as much indebted to you, and I love you also.” 

Coming from Sephiroth, that was practically a proposal.

Scooching up to sit next to the younger man, Genesis leaned his head on a broad shoulder before reverting his focus and kissing the side of a proud jaw. Activating a curaga, he handed it over to his partner, who was quick to make use of it on himself. When he did, a little color flooded back into his cheeks, and he seemed to deflate. Peering at their daughter, Sephiroth smiled.

“She has your hair.” 

Genesis chuckled.

“Poor thing.”

“I think it’s perfect.” 

Feeling like his heart was exploding with joy in his chest, the redhead smiled.

“She’s certainly perfect...like you.”

When Sephiroth gave him a consternating, somewhat despairing look in return-tempered by a kind of affectionate gentleness-he told himself the violet he saw flash behind the green of those cat-like irises was a facet of his imagination. There was-effectively-too much else to concentrate on. Genesis was...for the moment...too happy to separate the good from the bad. 

In a time far apart from it, when he looked back at a distant point in the future...he wished he had not been quite so negligent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** 'Saoirse' is pronounced _'sur-sha'_. It is, by my knowledge, Gaelic in origin. 
> 
> I don't know if I should have added a birth scene warning to this, but I didn't because I didn't want to spoil it. Also, I know I keep having these ominous endings, and there's a reason for that...we're kind of building up to something at this point and I don't want to throw it all in there without some foreshadowing. I wrote half of this chapter once, couldn't stand it, went back and wrote it again, and I'm still not happy with it but I need to stop at some point. But, yeah! She's finally here =) Hopefully it was good, and thank you for reading!


	20. Chapter 20

Sephiroth felt like he was living an illusory dream.

He supposed the phraseology was contraindicative, but there was nothing for it. Every moment spent with Saoirse was something washed in a pale...featherlight sheen that shivered from his extremities to his soul. It was _quiet_...placid, and so terribly innocent...innocent in a way that made him feel like he could shatter it with the flick of a finger. When he slid his palms over the soles of tiny feet...up over the arch to even more miniscule toes...he felt helpless. When his daughter cried for one of them in the middle of the night; tremulous and searching and small...he felt like he was spiraling into something uncontrollable and all-encompassing. The urge to heed her was compulsory...made him feel sick to his stomach if he ignored it for too long. Something in her tugged at him, pulled him to her in a way that was terrifying and beautiful at the same time. He hadn’t known...had never fathomed that he would ever love someone so much...had never thought it was possible to love someone more than he loved Genesis...but he did. It didn’t-of course-change the fact that his affection for the redhead’s had perhaps increased tenfold since the birth of their child...but it was still an undeniable truth.

And Genesis was good to Saoirse.

Really, Genesis was _besotted_ with Saoirse. Sephiroth supposed that if he was a jealous man he’d have been green with envy, but he wasn’t. The redhead spent his days toting their daughter around the small hotel room like some type of expensive designer bag; one that he’d gotten at the very last second, signed by Gaia herself. He knew-realistically-that the former Commander’s faith was severely dampened by the years and what they’d gone through, but it didn’t change the fact that the blue-eyed former First looked at their child like she’d come from the stars only to be put in his arms. It became apparent that she had green eyes, which the younger man tried not to be too smug about. They were slightly lighter than his...edging more towards aquamarine than a deep...dark emerald. Her hair remained her other father’s fiery scarlet, and he was quite happy with that if he were perfectly honest with himself. It fit her...fit _them_...and he’d never wanted her to look like him because the more she looked like him the more she looked like Jenova. Sephiroth would have loved her no matter her appearance, but her semblance to Genesis was a dear thing, something he was desperately grateful for.

They were never going to be what the world might designate as ‘normal’ parents. When Sephiroth was tired enough he caught himself slipping into field lingo when he was trying to get her to settle down and Genesis was rather overfond of using magic to create twinkling astral illusions to get her to fall asleep. Neither of them sang lullabies and the only nursery rhymes his partner was familiar with were ancient and just on the edge of playfully morbid. Still, when he had Saoirse were curled up in an armchair with the fire going, the lilting tenor of his voice was a soothing thing...and the baby listened to him raptly; like the words falling from his mouth were priceless gems scooped from the ground to fall in verbal form over her tiny ears. There was something so beautiful about it it was almost painful; the way the light from the flames would catch the older man’s cheekbones until they glittered with an ethereal, shimmering highlight. The glittering fire of his hair and their daughter’s hair...the shapely curve of his lips...the graceful stroke of long...pale fingers as they played in the soft down of the swaddling blanket. And there was a softness to those sapphire eyes that no one but Saoirse would ever know...like the warm, clear depths of a hot spring...overflowing with affection.

He was fairly sure that they wouldn’t have any more children. 

As collected as he had been about the birth...it was painful. Painful in ways that were difficult to really elucidate on a scale that was comparable. Bringing life into the world was a monumentally difficult task, was ultimately something that he had-in the throes of it-thought that he would not be able to do. Every push was a dark kind agony woven into a pulsating, hot kind of instinctual purpose. It was intimate in ways that sex was not...deeply personal and inherently frightening. Merely having Genesis by his side was almost too much for him; as his body worked to accomodate an act it was not necessarily built for, Sephiroth acknowledged that more than he was afraid, he was embarrassed. And not because he was groaning loudly to the rafters or because he was pushing a living being out of his nether regions...but because it just felt _too private._ Add to that eighteen months of pregnancy, and he would be perfectly happy to put childbearing out of the equation of his life indeterminately. 

It was taking him longer to regain his physical shape than he’d have liked.

This was, realistically, expected. They were confined to a hotel room with a yard they could only safely use in the very early hours of the morning or very late at night. When Sephiroth got out of bed four days after giving birth and declared himself ready to start exercising Genesis nearly had a conniption. Feasibly, however, women were sent home the same day when things went well. He’d had some tearing that took time to mend and the amount of blood he’d lost was no small thing but the curagas helped and he was itching to be able to move. The former General took several hours that morning to simply walk the perimeter of the fence and adjust to the feeling of moving without having to deal with what amounted to a watermelon at his middle. And it was strange...a little bit. He hadn’t gained an exorbitant amount of weight...if he’d gained any, but the musculature in the area of his abdomen was loose and his hips weren’t exactly as prominent as they’d once been and they were somewhat wider. Months of walking in the wilderness had kept the rest of his body relatively the same and that at least he supposed he ought to be grateful for. 

By the sixth day he was relatively comfortable with jogging late at night and early in the evening; sometimes with Genesis and sometimes without if the baby was awake. He did crunches and sit-ups and got back into the feel of circulating through combat stances when he felt he was ready for it. Both of them were terribly conscious of the other’s need for rest and they took their reprieves in shifts if they had to. It would-he acknowledged-be very different if they’d had the baby at HQ and managed to miraculously stay in their positions. There would be paperwork and drills and meetings and the amount of time they’d have to spend away from their daughter would make their current schedule seem like a fantastical dream. He cherished it while he could, not because it was a privilege, but also because something in him occasionally seemed to whisper that time was running out. 

He did end up lactating.

Specifically, Sephiroth woke up in the morning to find the sheets below him somewhat damp in the chest area and promptly threw Genesis from the mattress and onto the floor. This was followed by a pointed demand for elastic bandage and cabbage and by the afternoon Zack had shown up at the door looking somewhat astonished at finding both in the space of less than a few hours. His perplexing and humiliating physiological anomaly lasted maybe another week before petering out and while he knew that most mothers would jump at the chance to be able to physically nourish their children with their own bodies he was simply relieved that it was over with. He could go into heat, have extended not-exactly consensual sex with his partner for the sake of breeding, carry a child for nearly two years and then give birth to it but breastfeeding was a cry too far and he was _done_ being strange just because it was ‘better for the baby.’ If there was anything all of them needed, it was normalcy, and that was so far from normalcy it was unacceptable. 

There were, regardless, more pressing things to be concerned about.

Aerith had sent word that she was coming up as soon as she could find a way to escape the surveillance of the Turks. This did not include Tseng, who had ferried the message for her and then practically begged to see Saoirse. This had led to their first real fight in several months; with Genesis insisting it wasn’t safe and Sephiroth insisting that if they didn’t garner _some_ allies that they wouldn’t have a chance against Shinra at all. By the time the redhead was done shouting and the younger man was done glaring half the appliances in the hotel room were broken and Tseng had left in a kind of resigned melancholy. Zack replaced them with a weary kind of dutifulness and in the end it was both of them that came out feeling rather horrible about the whole affair. And Sephiroth understood...he truly did. Revealing Saoirse was a risk, no matter how much they trusted the opposite party because Shinra had ways of extracting information from people even when they were squarely on their side. It was a real fear...a valid one...and he couldn’t bring himself to stay angry with his lover about it. Tseng had been removed from ‘Aerith detail’-as Zack dubbed it-due to ‘inappropriate emotional attachments.’ This didn’t surprise either of them. Sephiroth was frankly shocked that it hadn’t happened sooner, but it put them in a precarious position because even if Aerith did escape, there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t be followed. It would be easy to lull her into a false sense of freedom just so she would lead Shinra straight to them unwittingly. 

There was also the matter of Jenova.

Sephiroth wasn’t stupid...nor was he ignorant of his biology. The moment Saoirse was born, he felt her return. It wasn’t a blatant thing...nothing so obvious as that, but there was a niggling, seeking presence in the back of his mind that he recognized almost immediately. He had-inherently-despaired. Because if Jenova was back, he was compromised; horribly. She was terribly interested in his daughter, and the mere concept of it had nearly driven him into a mindset so dark that it was the sole reason it had taken him so long to get out of bed. They didn’t speak...possibly because he was now aware of who- _what_ -she was and what she wanted from him. He was painfully aware of the fact that if she decided to take control he would not be able to stop her, that he would have a mere split-second of opportunity to try and rectify the situation before it spiraled out of control. She was, for the moment, content to sit in the background. This did not make him feel better. If anything, it made him feel worse….though he didn’t know why. 

Two weeks after the birth, he discovered that he had direct control of Saoirse’s will.

It was an accidental thing...entirely unintentional and yet singularly horrifying. He’d settled down past midnight; having spent the majority of the evening trying to get her to sleep. It was his designated ‘baby shift’ and Genesis was dead to the world next to him. Five minutes after closing his eyes, Sephiroth had woken to their daughter’s cries...and the weariness in his bones had fed a kind of dark irritation. Rising, he didn’t think...merely acted...walked to the basket they used as a bassinet and simply thought _’sleep’_. The moment he did so, Saoirse quieted...her crying petered out and she’d looked at him like she was a little surprised before her eyelids drooped and her breathing grew quiet and steady. Standing in the quiet of the room, aware of what he had just done...Sephiroth fell to pieces. Really, he stumbled out into the yard and was violently sick. It was enough to wake Genesis, who staggered outside after him and fell to his knees next to him trying to discern what was wrong.

He couldn’t tell him.

Gazing into tired, worried sapphire eyes...he couldn’t tell the older man because he was _afraid_. Afraid of what he had done, of what it meant he could do in the future, afraid of himself. Instead, Sephiroth told his former comrade that he’d had a nightmare, that it was nothing and that he shouldn’t fret. They went back inside...back to where their daughter was still in the throes of forced unconsciousness. Inside...and his lover went to get him a glass of water before bidding him lie down. He did so, and remained awake staring at the ceiling in a kind of existential horror. Because if he could do that...there was no telling what else would arise in the future. And he didn’t want this...didn’t want to have an innately manipulative ability that he’d never asked for. He didn’t want their daughter to be under his sway, because if she was she would never truly be her own person.

It was only the beginning.

In later weeks, he caught himself doing ‘idle’ things. Soothing her via his mind rather than via his voice...quieting her with a gentle psychic suggestion rather than with his vocality. Genesis commented on her ‘improved’ demeanor; enthusiastically rejoiced over the fact that her mind was ‘maturing’ and she was learning to ‘self-soothe.’ Every time he caught himself doing it, Sephiroth wanted to slit his own throat...every time the older man was optimistic about her progress due to his coercive actions he wanted to die. And it was easy to fall into the habit of it because the results were so instantaneous. She could be crying in another room and he had to do nothing but ‘flick’ his metaphorical fingers and she was cooing happily. It was simplistic, the manner in which he could do it...and there were times that it didn’t feel like he was doing it all...like something moved within him to do it before he could quell the urge. And he knew what it was...rather knew _who_ it was and what she was trying to do. If Jenova could break him via shame...could make him think of himself as worthless because of his actions, it would be easier to draw him back. Better to reform a shattered individual than a whole, entirely assured one. And it tortured him...it did. The decision of whether or not to confide in his partner...of whether or not such confession would result in something disastrous...of whether the older man would be able to forgive him. 

And so it was on the third week that he found himself standing in front of the complimentary liquor cabinet staring at a bottle of rectified spirits normally used for mixing drinks and wondering if he could get blackout drunk with the entire thing. Jenova’s presence was thicker now...it almost seemed a physical thing. It slithered in an out of the recesses of his psyche like a thick black snake...teasing different facets of his mentality with a vicious purpose. The entirety of it felt like a slimy...mucosal presence was slathering his mind in a dense...dripping fog that got stronger the longer he left it idle. He was-effectively-witnessing the deterioration of his free will...of his consciousness...and the acknowledgement of it for what it was left him reeling in a desperate and cold kind of way. Whatever protection the pregnancy had offered was swiftly waning...was being overcome by the sick purpose of his cells and it was only a matter of time before he was lost. Now, more than ever he took the time to appreciate those who were with him, because he intended to be dead before that time ever came. He would not put this family through such a thing...would not let them hope again...would not break Genesis again. 

Calloused fingers crept up his wrist...encircled the pulse-point, and he closed his eyes.

The aforementioned man’s presence was soft and warm at his back...velvety and smooth and sensual as it always had been. A chin was rested on his shoulder even as the older man prised the liquor from his palm and set it back in the cabinet...shutting the glass doors with a definitive and firm sort of purpose. With his task finished, the former Commander merely let his free hand encircle his waist and tug him close. Exhaling shakily, Sephiroth gritted his teeth against the wave of grief that threatened to overcome him...let it choke him inside even as he tried to let his external semblances equate to some form of relaxation. 

“Seph, _talk_ to me.” 

It surprised him a little bit, the pleading tenor of the older man’s voice. He had, quite foolishly, assumed he was doing rather a good job of hiding his slow descent into insanity. But Genesis felt...small...behind him. Seeking and supplicating and he knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t open himself up...wouldn’t proffer his vulnerability so honestly if he didn’t think that the situation wasn’t serious enough. He didn’t know how to go about it, however. Didn’t know how to confess his egress because if he did he didn’t know if the former Commander would try to save him...and he didn’t have time to be saved. Sephiroth _needed_ these last, few precious gasps of humanity to drink in what he had been given...to understand the great privilege of having been loved so faithfully...so gently and so carefully. He couldn’t do that if they were running about trying to find a way to salvage his soul. They had tried...before. They had both tried and Genesis had nearly died and then he’d burned the world to the ground. He couldn’t do that again...couldn’t face himself again. Maybe it was cowardice...he didn’t know. But if he should accidently lose himself and Saoirse was in the crossfire...if she _died_ because he could not manage his own corruption he would be lost...Genesis would be lost. So when he turned to face the older man, Sephiroth raised his hands and cupped his cheeks...let the sincere gratefulness he felt for the gifts that had been bestowed upon him echo themselves in his eyes.  
Letting the fingers of his left hand card through thick, scarlet locks...he smiled.

“You” he murmured. “Are _magnificent._ ” 

Something flickered behind those intelligent sapphire eyes then. The acknowledgement of what he had said was met with a quivering, soft kind of shock mingled with gratuity. This melted into reticence...which trickled down into a deep, bone-shuddering _fear._ And Genesis didn’t understand...didn’t know what he was doing or why he was showering him with compliments...in the end, the results were negligible...he _needed_ this. So when he replaced his voice with his lips it was a soft, supplicating thing...something seeking and pleading for no more and no less. Standing before the floor to ceiling windows of the porch with the morning light flooding in, the liquor cabinet in a dark corner just to the left, their daughter sleeping next to an armchair at the right, Sephiroth took the redhead’s lips in a gesture that was both appreciation, need, and an apology for what was to come. 

Genesis responded tentatively at first, opened his mouth to him and angled his head in a searching...gentle manner that was clearly holding off. They hadn’t made love in a long while...not this way...hadn’t touched each other since Saoirse’s birth and the newness of it was a shivering...sweet thing. He let it linger...let their arousal bloom slowly because he wanted to take it slow...wanted to savor it...wanted to remember it. The lithe length of his lover’s body was pressed against him and he let his right hand sweep down the graceful slope of the former Commander’s side...allowed his fingers to bunch in the fabric of the sweater he was wearing at the small of his back. The room was still around them...almost as if it was holding its breath. Dust motes caught in the light of a sunbeam swirled like jewels...like golden starlight before and around them and he lost himself in Genesis...in the blue of his eyes...the silk of his mouth and the touch of his tongue. Sweet...more inveigling than liquor and more tantalizing than carnage...hot and passionate and _good_.

The older man nipped at his lip and he broke away, let his mouth find a new avenue of exploration via an alabaster neck as clothes rustled, as his hips jerked and he shuddered while his partner ground thoughtlessly into him...his breath catching in an inglorious but telling hitch. Fingers carded through his hair and he leaned into the caress, licked a wide...hungry stripe up the hollow of his partner’s throat in response and sucked until Genesis made a soft...ravenous sound in the back of his throat. They were flushed now...heavy with desire and something else...something aggrieved and resigned and serious but appreciative nevertheless. And it was Genesis who pulled back to look searchingly into his eyes...Genesis who took his hand and smiled crookedly before leading him into the bedroom...feet soft like a whisper...mattress giving way as they tumbled onto it together and fumbled with one another in a grasping, desperate sort of way. Mouthing at the twitching tent of an erection through a thin layer of cotton as the redhead slumped back onto the bed and opened his legs...Sephiroth let his fingers grasp the inside crook of a thigh...rubbed his cheek along the hard prominence of his partner’s desire until he was dizzy with it. 

They took their time disrobing. 

Hands explored every inch of proffered physicality...inched under sweatshirts and pants until lust was thrumming between them like a tuning fork struck. He nearly forgot himself when he settled between the ‘V’ of lithe hip bones and Genesis arched up into him, bared his neck and rolled his hips...eyelids heavy and suggestive. With great effort, he reigned himself in...retrieved a bottle of lube from the bedside table and knelt between pale thighs. Sliding tremulous palms down the planes of a flat abdomen, the former General leaned forward to take the redhead’s mouth in a deep kiss...made it last...shivered as his tongue was drawn deep and worried at the back of a tremulous throat. Long fingers clenched at his sides...dug into the not-quite-entirely firm flesh as they sought a foothold and the groan that fell from the blue-eyed former First’s lips as a finger breached him was a thin...hungry thing. 

It was slow because it had to be.

Genesis was still tense...still a bit reluctant and Sephiroth took his time opening him up to him...delved deep and rubbed until the body beneath him was writhing into the sheets. He worried the older man’s erection through it...let his fingers tease over the head until the older man was flushed and moaning; his physicality clenching desperately around him. He lingered in a desperate, seeking sort of way...memorized the feel of every inch of skin under his fingertips like it was a litany of promises. And it had been a long time since they had made love this way...longer than they had made love at all and he was a bit self-conscious of himself...aware that his body was not in the shape that it used to be and concerned over his overall prowess.

_”Hurry up.”_

It was different from other times...their joining. Sephiroth lined himself up, thrust deep and all the air in Genesis body seemed to get expelled out of his mouth in a quiet huff. The wet...soft cavern of his physicality was a delirious allurement...grasping and ravenous and the silver-haired man buried his face into the jut of a collarbone even as the former Commander lifted his legs until they hugged his sides and angled his hips just-so. He busied his fingers in the redhead’s hair...tugged at soft, fiery strands until the choked demand of _’move’_ spilled from kiss-swollen lips. Grasping the underside of alabaster thighs, Sephiroth did just that; gathered the older man to him and drove forward slowly, bottomed out in a reservoir of euphoria before repeating the gesture...again...and again. He was easy with it...spun it out and made it last; milked every last ounce of pleasure from the physicality below him...until Genesis was dewey-eyed and cursing in that glorious, melodious manner that left him weak and tremulous with the storm of rapture behind it. He drew him closer...brought himself up on his knees and blanketed the torso before him until a slender fingered hand left his neck to slam into the coverlets and bunch them upwards…’till the clever digits of the palm opposite lost their articulation and dug into his left buttock with a savage focus.

_”Ohh…!”_

This...he could still feel...this he could appreciate. Even as his sides heaved with the effort of it he acknowledged that this was where he felt the most complete...where their togetherness circumvented the agonizing pain of his psyche until it bled out in a lax...desperate manner of release. He slowed his pace to a lazy grind and Genesis’ mouth fell open in a rictus of pleasure...brows bunching together as he found his prostate and surged against it ‘till the sweet, raptured noises bubbling up from that pale throat morphed into a soft wail. Sephiroth drank it in...took it deep until the sound vibrated in his bones…’till it encompassed him in a golden haze that buzzed over every inch of his skin. The older man’s hands came up to frame his face and even in the throes of pleasure there was a desperate kind of seeking...a need for reciprocation...a need for answers.

That...he could not provide.

So when he picked up the tempo of his thrusts again...it was with the knowledge that this was not so much a dishonesty as it was an apology. For what he might do...for what he _had_ to do. And when Genesis came it was a thing wrought in sadness...a cry sent to the heavens unfettered as he arched his back and came between them in an explosion of pearly fluid. Sephiroth followed him down, moaned breathlessly into the flushed shell of an earlobe as he found his release in a wash of white that encompassed his vision. They came together...and yet it was somehow separate...somehow apart. And when they were lying together afterwards...tangled together in a jumble of arms and legs Genesis spoke and it was a hitching, frightened and quiet thing;

“...Where are you going, Sephiroth?” he whispered. “Why are you leaving us?”

Closing his eyes as the sweat dried on his skin...Sephiroth gritted his teeth and buried his nose in the crook where his lover’s neck met his shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere” he said hoarsely.

It was a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Kicking it up again a bit. This wasn't going to last long in the peaceful department, so I apologize for the angstiness, but this is tame compared to what's coming. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> **Edit:** Also sorry for taking so long with this, I got writer's block, and I'm working through it but it was kind of strangling me there for a while and still somewhat is but taking a break didn't help so I'm just going to keep going until it hopefully passes. 
> 
> **R &R**


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warning** : Very bloody gory and tragic chapter.

Sephiroth was leaving...but not the way Genesis was expecting him to. 

At first, he didn’t notice the problem. And really, he thought he had the fairly valid excuse of being so deliriously in love with their daughter that he failed to identify the warning signs. Because she was perfect in every way and he wanted her to never grow up and see the world for the terrible horrible place it was. He wanted to put her in the frilly, pink and blue dress onesies-all four of them, provided by Zack of course-day in and day out and never let her out of his sight. She could toddle around after him until the day he dropped dead of euphoric parenthood and he would be the happiest motherfucker on earth. She could sully a thousand diapers and he literally would not give two shits because it was so worth it just to see her smile, just to hear her babbling from another room. The former Commander was ecstatic to carry her everywhere and every time he put her down he felt like he was missing a vital accessory. She was-of course-more than accessory. But anyone who knew Genesis knew that when he missed something more than he missed a mint-label, quilted, top dollar designer handbag that was saying something.

Genesis would throw out every single fashion-related item he owned, burn his previous apartment to the ground and relinquish his title in Soldier for his daughter. He might even cut his hair and never shave. He didn’t have to-thankfully-but it was at least worth emphasizing the lengths he was willing to go for her. Saoirse, he decided quite firmly a few days after her birth, would never date. He would gut any sorry asshole that looked her way-male or female, because equality-and if _she_ decided she wanted to date he would sit whoever thought themselves high and mighty enough to receive her affections down and interrogate them like a wanted criminal. When he told this to Sephiroth, the younger man sighed and said that it was _‘far too soon to be thinking of such things’_ , but that did nothing to alter his mindset. Genesis was a Dad now, and being a Dad dictated that he could do things like be angry about dating. He was aware that the stance was extremely hypocritical but he didn’t care. 

Being a Dad also made him a little bitter. 

Because now that he had a daughter to look at, he couldn’t help but somewhat despise his adoptive father even more. He didn’t know how anyone in their right might could abuse and belittle something so innocent...the mere idea of calling Saoirse half the names Shikro had called him made him want to vomit. The idea of striking her made him want to die. Because he knew how that degradation of character felt...knew how he himself had shriveled into nothing every time his lawfully-designated sire called him a ‘rake’, ‘weak’, or ‘stupid.’ He’d grown into it...worn the labels proudly because that was all he could do to survive. Genesis had had to adopt the names he was so ruthlessly bludgeoned with because the alternative was emptiness. He rebelled because they told him he was unruly, he pursued artistry and flair because society labeled it as ‘feminine’ and they’d get what they’d given, he fucked everyone he could because damn right he was disgusting. The ‘weak’ part he’d had to prove wrong, because he wasn’t willing to be weak...but everything else...he _owned._

 

Saoirse should never have to endure that.

He didn’t know, realistically, who he would have been if he’d grown up with Gast and Ilfana. Maybe he’d have been gentler, like Aerith...though she hadn’t had much time with them either. It all, of course, boiled down to nature versus nurture; and he wasn’t a philosopher or a psychologist. There was no real way to determine who he might have been, and no point in wondering about it. But he’d be damned if he didn’t try his hardest to nurture Saoirse in the kindest way possible. Not necessarily because he wanted her to be meek or mild, but because he wanted her to know she was loved. He knew he couldn’t control everything she did...and he didn’t want to, but he didn’t want her to live with his regrets either. When he looked at his daughter...into her eyes...and thought of all the other eyes he’d left flooded...smudged with makeup, accusing, angry and hurt in a mess of bedsheets, he felt a little cold. Because each one of those women and men had been someone’s daughter....someone’s son…

...Someone’s baby.

There were some encounters he regretted less than others. Apple, for example, had never cried; he was usually the one crying by the end of their trysts and it was always in ecstacy. When he was younger, however, and less circumspect...the amount of broken hearts he’d left scattered behind him was a bit nauseating. And he didn’t _regret_ it...not in the sense of the gratification, because at the time it was good, but he did regret his flagrant manner of discard. He imagined that if he appeared before his victims now, they’d smile and murmur _’remember, payback is a bitch.’_ Genesis didn’t like that idea, and he thought of it as little as he could...but it was difficult...very difficult. 

This was-of course-ignoring the very prevalent problem that his partner was leaving.

It was subtle...initially. Sephiroth was tired after giving birth, but he threw himself into a training regime regardless. When he’d stare into nothing for a couple minutes at odd times, Genesis just assumed that he was tired, as he had every right to be. If the former General wanted to sit in an armchair and go to space that was perfectly fine; he did it himself sometimes. Something in him whispered that this was distinctly not-Sephiroth, but he ignored it. He went about his daily tasks, traded ‘baby shifts’ and slept when he got the opportunity. He relished the time he was spending with his family because eventually they were going to have to face the music. Zack came and went with little change in news. With no sight or sound of them for weeks, SOLDIER had lessened the guard around Icicle Inn and moved to look elsewhere. Aerith hadn’t shaken her Turk tail and Angeal was still a ‘P.O.W’. It was deep winter now; snow fell almost every day and they sometimes had to shovel their way out into the backyard.

The distance came next.

Specifically, Sephiroth became quiet. That was saying a hell of a lot because Sephiroth was always quiet. Now, however, it was a tense kind of quiet. He didn’t engage in conversation as much anymore, his answers were clipped and sometimes fragmented...like he couldn’t fully process what Genesis was saying to him. At first the older man’s mind jumped to Post-Partum Depression, but his lover didn’t seem suicidal, he seemed like he was in a weird kind of battle with himself. The blue-eyed ex-First would wake up to him sitting in bed, gazing at the far wall, so stiff he was trembling. It took him awhile to realize that Sephiroth was afraid...that he was _scared_ and he didn’t know what to do. That was when he really started to worry, and he tried to get the younger man to talk to him, but it was rather like running into a brick wall. Sephiroth brushed off his concerns; soothed him like he was the stupidest person on earth or fucked him into the mattress like a good dicking was going to plough whatever concerns he had right out of his brain. Genesis had been around the block _way_ too many times to have his mind wiped by some lengthy and-admittedly-extremely hot sex. 

There were little hints.

Hiccups of wrongness that left him uneasy. Sephiroth was not affectionate; but he started to touch Genesis often. This petered out towards the end…and it wasn't sexual touch. No, it was contact for the sake of the thing; a hand at his elbow when he was standing at the bedroom window with a cup of coffee. ...A body pressed against his back when he did the dishes...chin on his shoulder. A kiss on his cheek just because...a warm palm brushing over his knuckles when he read a book. The redhead woke at night to catch Sephiroth staring. Not predatorily... desperately...like he wanted to memorize him...like he was going to forget him. 

It got worse. 

It got quite a lot worse. Sephiroth spent hours in what seemed like a giant, mental cloud. He moved mechanically through the motions...a shell of himself. Genesis felt stupid...felt helpless...felt like everything was so wrong when everything was so right. His partner was swirling away...as if all of what made him… _him_ was circling this massive, yawning internal drain. When he was feeling particularly morbid, he likened it to light approaching the event horizon of a black hole. Sephiroth was disappearing into the dark, monstrous blackness of the unknown and he didn’t know _why._ He didn’t know how to help, didn’t know what to say or what he could possibly do. He was divided between spending time with Saoirse and attending to his clearly mentally ill partner. Sephiroth had started to avoid their daughter...almost like he was afraid of hurting her, and that was what really terrified him. Because if the younger man had that concern about himself, it was only a matter of time before he went to extreme lengths to prevent whatever he was so scared of. And it had been said before, but they were SOLDIERS; SOLDIERS were taught to prepare for the worst...to plan ahead...to have a contingency plan. 

Genesis did not want to wait long enough to find out what that contingency plan was.

And it was stupid, really...that he hadn’t put two and two together. They’d last talked about Jenova a very long time ago, and the thought of her was so far from his mind that it simply didn’t occur to him. It was inane and idiotic, but he was so consumed by worry, by trying to be a halfway decent parent, that he failed to connect the dots. All he could see in his exhausted mind was a companion, a _lover_ who was literally falling apart at the seams. And it hurt him...more than he cared to admit. He didn’t resent Sephiroth, but he resented himself for not being enough. He especially resented himself when the younger man looked at him like he hated him...like he hardly knew what or who he was. Looking back, he wanted to run himself through with Rapier-wherever the blade might be-for being so ignorant...for not considering their pasts...for being naive. But most of all, he resented himself for his hope; for not being vigilant...for becoming lax in his observation. 

Sephiroth wasn’t leaving physically...he was leaving mentally.

By the time Genesis wised up, it was too late. When he woke up to Saoirse crying in her crib and the bed next to him empty...cool...vacated for hours...he knew. Opening his eyes...listening to his daughter’s cries...his mind simply spat the name _’Jenova’_. And it was rather like being shot...rather like being gutted. Because he was _furious_ that the younger man hadn’t told him...that he hadn’t come to him...hadn’t felt like he could confide in him. Sephiroth had _watched him die_ and he wasn’t comfortable enough to tell him that he was dying inside. Sephiroth had borne their daughter, had pushed another life into the world and looked at her only to acknowledge that he couldn’t stay...to _choose_ not to stay because he was unwilling to look for an answer. His heart felt like a stone split apart...felt like a fissure in the earth rent open to spill forth the fiery, agonized wreck of its core. At the same time...he acknowledged his own hypocrisy...because he had asked the same of him once...had asked him to let it go...had asked him to let him die. 

But Sephiroth had not asked.

And all those hours...those beautiful twilight hours seemed like something encased in amber...something crystalized and so painful that it was sweet. The man he loved...stretched out on the bed with Saoirse lying next to him...gazing down at her with those cat-like...beautiful green eyes as a gentle smile stretched across his lips. All silver hair...spun starlight and pale skin, crooning love when inside he was rotting apart. Genesis stared at the ceiling with the vision in his mind and choked on the sob at the back of his throat...swallowed it down ‘till it grew hot and hurt and bitter; felt scalding, salty liquid form in his tear ducts only to ferociously blink it away. Sephiroth and his stupid quiet...his seriousness...his tenderness...those lithe fingers and the soft slope of his belly under a dark T-shirt...not quite as it used to be...but almost. That part, at least, was gone. Gone after weeks of training with little more than his bare hands and his body. He knew what it was like to face the imminence of your demise...the terrible fear of it...the knowledge that everything you were was never a guarantee. 

It didn’t change the awful, soul-shattering pain of it.

And now the tables were turned and he understood how his lover had felt. He understood...and he didn’t. Because he hadn’t run like a coward in the end. Not like he could have, but he’d considered it quite seriously. Genesis had considered slaughtering every sorry corrupt soul in Shinra and leaving it to burn at his back. He’d considered taking Hollander’s offer. And where would the General go? Where could he run that he couldn’t be found? There was nowhere on this earth he’d be safe...and once Jenova took over, no one would be safe. Sephiroth would never be so irresponsible as to allow that...not with their daughter. 

Sephiroth would die before that happened.

Genesis sat up as if electrocuted at the thought, nearly knocked himself out on the wall when Zack began to simultaneously pound on the door. And he didn’t need to ask-as he stumbled, half-blind and near-mad with fear-to the entryway. He didn’t need to look into the younger man’s eyes to know that the world was ending. His world. And it had been a shadowed, fearful universe...a cold...white dwarf in the middle of a dying cosmos... frigid light and glittering whispers...omens of sorrow and pain...but it was still his. _He_ was still his. Saoirse was still crying when Zack informed him through trembling lips that Sephiroth had flown straight into a military front guarding the way out of the Northern Continent. They were at a standoff, apparently, despite the fact that the silver-haired ex-First would not fight...they wouldn’t capture him either. 

_”What the hell is going on?!”_ the younger man had demanded.

_”I don’t know! I don’t **know**!”_

The words were a howl on his lips, and they seemed to bring Angeal’s protegee up short. And Fair saw his terror then, took one look at him and seemed almost alarmed. Genesis took Saoirse; bundled her up and gave her to Zack with a bottle before dressing in a crazed stupor. His hands shook, his heart felt like it was exploding out of his chest because if he couldn’t stop this...it was _over_. It was over regardless, because they could not stand against three hundred thousand men...not without killing them all...but he would. _He would._ There was something wrong with that logic; that one man would be worth more than so many lives, but he was. Sephiroth was. Sephiroth was the only one who saw him...the only one who had never questioned what Genesis proffered him. Genesis would go out in a hail of bullets before he saw harm come to the individual who had borne their child...and so all other lives were negligible in the process. 

Fair tried to stop him.

_’Tried’_ being the key word, because the older man threw a stasis charm at him that would last half an hour and then blasted through the front of the hotel. He didn’t bring their daughter because to do so would have been inane. He would not expose her to battle when he could go himself. Instead, he left her with Zack, because he knew the dark-haired SOLDIER’s instincts would hold true; he would tend to her, ensure her welfare while he was away. It was not within his nature to abandon. There was a guard at the front of the hotel...presumably waiting for Fair to come out. They didn’t have time to blink before they were dead...before they were painted across the snow like ribbons of scarlet. The carnage of it was lost to him because he had a greater focus. He had killed for survival before...he would do it again...and again...and again…

Flying no longer made him feel free.

Instead, he felt like his wing was slow...like it was cumbersome. Even as Icicle Inn disappeared into the blizzard-like conditions before him...the almost-invisible ground a blur of white beneath him...he felt like he was taking too long. A chopper couldn’t have gone as fast, but it didn’t seem like enough...every minute was another sixty seconds added to the possibility of Sephiroth’s death. Genesis was soaring on borrowed time...tearing across the troposphere like a possessed comet to uncertain avail. There was no sun...and it seemed appropriate; the day had dawned as steely a silver as the icy shards of desperation in his chest. It was a whiteout; Zack had mentioned a Nor’easter but he hadn’t been paying attention...not enough to know the scope or size. By the time he was halfway to the coast his feathers were encrusted with rime...almost gemlike in their glacial state. 

It took him an hour.

That was saying a hell of a lot, because technically he was flying at breakneck speed through a winter-related cyclone. He was a little surprised that he wasn’t being flanked by forty score choppers, but in this weather it was impossible to get the birds off the ground without risking life and limb. The situation-when he arrived-was fucking terrible. Really...it was more than terrible. The flake-associated barrage around him parted and he was accosted with the sight of a sea of glimmering helmets...a _vast_ amount of infantry. Shinra had pulled out all the stops when it came to guarding the border back into Midgar. With the sea shimmering at their backs; Genesis couldn’t help but feel despair crawl up his throat. Because this was a legion-more than a legion-of men that was brainwashed...cemented to a dark cause and unwilling to stray. Rifles glimmered in the low light...pointed inwards...surrounding in a circular pattern...like wolves before their former Alpha...like carrion waiting for a feast. 

Genesis landed in a wave of white next to the man who had decided that fixing himself was not worth it. With frost clinging to his eyelashes...the redhead skidded through the snow to slide to his side. And Sephiroth had apparently planned to just die in sweatpants and a T-shirt...because that was all he was wearing. He had to be cold...had to be freezing, but here he was encircled by the bulk of Shinra’s army in the middle of a blizzard and he wasn’t even shivering. Green eyes cut to him in sincere horror, though not in fear of him...but in fear _for_ him. And he was a phantom wrought in in the ethereal...the former General. Like a pale...flickering spirit...those irises were suffused with pain beyond his scope of comprehension. Sephiroth looked like a man brought to ruin and Genesis wanted to rail at him...wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him until he could knock some sense into him. 

_”Stand down!!”_

The roar was familiar...one of his men, the former Commander acknowledged. But they were fearful...reluctant...especially now with the two of them. Shinra hadn’t been able to stop Sephiroth before, and they certainly wouldn’t be able to stop both of them. The troops were restless under the cautious eye of their replacement Commanders and Generals. Mako-blue eyes shifted anxiously between the two men...cognizant of what they were facing...aware of  
what they would have to overcome-if they ever could-should they choose to engage. The fog of a thousand breaths was a haze before him...the crunch of booted feet...the shift of snow. It was quiet...quiet in the way that only winter could make it quiet. Like the universe was waiting with bated breath to see what was to come.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Genesis’ closed his eyes against that slow...careful baritone. Because as beautiful as it was...it hurt to hear it. That voice had whispered love when it had been thinking of leaving...had reassured him...held him in the dark hours. That voice had murmured sweet nothings to Saoirse...had promised her eternal love only to do _this_. 

“Neither should you” the redhead choked.

At first, he thought the younger man wouldn’t respond again...that they would continue with this fatalistic standoff until the world crumbled into dust and their bones were swept away. 

“I have to” was the quiet response. “This is the only way.”

Genesis snapped.

“No, you _don’t_ ” he snarled, whipping around to face the silver-haired ex-First. Sephiroth wouldn’t look at him, and it only fueled his rage. “You don’t have to be here, Sephiroth. You _chose_ to be here. Don’t pussyfoot around it like it’s going to soften the fucking blow. You chose this, over me, over our _child-!_ You’re here...waiting to be shot down by some green, stupid fuckwad with a loose trigger finger while our daughter is asleep in her crib because you’re a _coward!_ You’re abandoning us-!” 

“I’m _not_!” Sephiroth’s voice was low but urgent. “I’m not, but she’s taking over Genesis, you know what happened last time-”

“-So we’d have figured a way to flush the bitch out!” the aforementioned man yelled, heedless of who was listening. “We’d have figured it out, together, like we always have. But you didn’t want to do that, did you? You wanted to play the fucking hero-”

“-This is _not_ about being the hero” was the growled reply. “This is about the preservation of life, the life _we_ created-”

“-You don’t get to make these decisions on your own” Genesis spat. “You don’t, Seph, you _don’t_. I don’t care how scary it is, I don’t care how much you care...I don’t care how good-hearted your pigheaded intentions were because parenting is a joint effort. It’s a struggle but it’s a united struggle-”

“-I can control her mind” Sephiroth said flatly.

That brought him up short.

With his mouth open to deliver the next scalding string of logic, the redhead abruptly stopped and stared at his partner. The former General’s expression was a litany of pain...of agony...of the acknowledgement of difference.

“I can control her mind” he repeated heavily. “Like Jenova can control mine.” The younger man shuddered. “And sometimes, she can control her through me.” 

_Oh._

Like a balloon abruptly popped, the redhead felt himself deflate. Even as he tried to hang onto his rage...a cold kind of understanding took its place. And it made sense now...the abrupt downtick in Saoirse's crying...her calmness...her silence. It was an echo of her father...a father who was desperately trying to control the impulse _to_ control because that was what was in his biological makeup. He’d chalked it up to maturation; to their daughter getting older. And of course that would drive Sephiroth to this...of course it would. He knew what it was like to be controlled...he would never wish to impart that upon his child. Sephiroth was a man that was desperate because he was inundated with cells he didn’t ask for...cells he had passed to his progeny that were creating a vicious progressional ladder of hierarchy between himself and Jenova. And Jenova would use that hierarchy to break his lover down...would shame him for his ability to manipulate...would poison his thoughts until he couldn’t stand himself anymore. The alien cells within him were taking over by systematically tearing his morals and his standards apart. They were shredding his pride...his joy at being a father...his happiness in having a family and replacing them with the idealism that he was subservient, that he was weak...that he had no control.

...Hive mind indeed.

“Seph” Genesis said numbly, stepping forward. “Sephiroth” he repeated when they were inches apart...facing each other...surrounded by glimmering death. “That doesn’t change how much I love you” he murmured hoarsely. 

His partner’s visage crumbled. Impassive stone gave way to something so agonized he felt it in his very soul.

“Genesis” was the whispered reply. “I...am hanging onto myself by a thread...every day, it gets worse. I’m a _monster_...and I will not subject Saoirse to my monstrosity. I will not let her become what I’ve become.” 

“I wouldn’t let you do that” the former Commander choked. “But I’m not letting you go either.” 

He felt the change before he heard it...saw it before it was given way in solid physical verity. It was like a ripple...like the lap of water in a tide pool. Sephiroth’s visage wavered like a scrying mirror...shifted between the vulnerable, frightened and yet _brave_ man he knew to something cold, heartless, and sinister. There was a rush of air...like the egress of the final breath through the mouth of a dying man...long...hissing...rattling until it was abruptly cut off, like the flip of a switch. Something warm swirled around him...something familiar before it winked out like a beautiful star in the middle of an otherwise dark sky. The man before him smiled, but it wasn’t a kind smile...it was a cruel smile. It was filled with dark promise, void of love. And those eyes...those eyes were shot through with violet.

“What makes you think you have a choice?” 

Svelt; familiar yet unfamiliar, obscene and yet beloved. Darker than the sea in the middle of a hurricane...blacker than tar. And Genesis wanted to beg, suddenly...wanted to drop to his knees and plead because he was so desperate. He knew it would be futile; knew that the being before him had no sympathy for him...and no sympathy for the body she infested so casually...like she was a welcome guest and Sephiroth had rolled out the welcome mat. 

“There’s always hope” he said harshly. “I’ll _never_ give up on him. You might have broken him down again, might have wormed your disgusting, fetid claws into his mind...but you’ll never have him.” 

A tilt of the head...graceful, predatory...glimmering irises, a lifted brow, and a sneer that was as glorious as it was terrible.

“But this _is_ who I am” was the purred response. “Without inhibition...with the acceptance of my cells. Who I was...the man you _love_ -” ‘love’ was spat out like a curse. “-That’s only part of who I am. Aren’t you the one trying to sink his claws in? Trying to inhibit me from embracing my nature? Isn’t that the _basest_ of cruelties?”

“That’s the craziest bullshit I’ve ever heard” Genesis snapped. “Sephiroth isn’t some sort of serial killer just for the sake of being a serial killer. There’s no creativity in that, no artistry. Seph is brilliant, he’s honest and he’s a little emotionally dense but he’s not some ho hum hack n’ slash murde-”

Sephiroth disappeared.

Genesis blinked and Sephiroth was gone...void space rushing in to fill the hole he’d vacted. And at first the redhead assumed that he’d fled...that he was unwilling to face the contingency before him. The SOLDIERs around him started shouting, starting barking orders to the flank to ‘fan out’ and ‘search the area.’ He felt bereft inside...like something in his sternum...something bright and spherical and purely honest was disintegrating. It hurt...not like tearing but like an ache...like a sweet soft ache that left him short of breath and shivering...like he’d woken up and his limbs were still weak from somnolence. He felt himself sway and some of the troops moved forward. Eyeing them, he acknowledged that he couldn’t take them alone, that the act would kill him. And before, he wouldn’t have minded dying like this...but their daughter needed him. He would not do her the great injustice of committing suicide because he was heartbroken. Closer they moved...closer...like he was a wounded animal bleeding out on the ground….closer…

And then the screaming started.

It began to his left...and at first he thought he was imagining things. Then, the former Commander realized the sea of SOLDIERs was parting...crumbling really...in that direction. They were falling...flying this way and that as a hurricane of silver drove inwards with malicious purpose. Crimson flew in arcs...painted its way up...glittered in the cold sky and intermingled with the snowflakes. The ground was scarlet...hissing from the heat of the liquid that touched it...copper invaded his olfactory senses as the song of a familiar sword reached his ears. The Commanders of their respective columns were screaming orders...bullets were fired only for the riflemen to be ripped in half. Hemoglobin splattered over his lips and Genesis jerked...too shocked to do anything...to numb to react to the carnage occuring around him. And he’d heard of what Sephiroth was capable of...but he’d never really seen it. Never seen him dance to Jenova’s tune like a fluid, sinuous harbinger of death...never seen the feverish light in his eyes as he spun Masamune like a scythe and brought mortal judgement to those weaker than him. 

It was terrible.

It was _beautiful._

Bathed in blood and he was still beautiful, still somehow immaculate. And they’d never discussed his ability to summon his sword...maybe he should have taken that as a warning that something was wrong. Maybe it was nothing. The only thing going through his mind was the fact that they had gone through so much only to come ‘round to _this…_ This mindless slaughter, this savage glut. And Genesis was not ignorant to his own physiological response. He was not the perfect specimen Sephiroth was...but a part of him hearkened to it. When the younger man thrust Masamune through a row of four Cadets...skewered them and then left them to bleed out...a part of him fluttered with instinctual recognition. It was hungry...it was _familiar_ with the sight before him. That disgusted him more than anything...frightened him more than anything. The Cetra in him cried its indignance while the foreign cells in him slavered to join in. And it was nothing to do with insanity, he realized, not at all.

It was pure biology. 

He wasn’t entirely sure what disturbed him more. When Sephiroth was sated, the redhead realized that he hadn’t so much slaughtered SOLDIER as he had eradicated them. Ironically, the surviving men were still in formation...scattered in a much thinner circle about them...like lonely, straggled orchard posts in a barren winter field. They weren’t firing...appeared to be disbelieving and horrified; like this was an unspeakable nightmare they had only to wake up from. There was the crunch of bare feet and Genesis watched his...former?...partner approach. Veridian eyes glittered from their sockets...lashes painted crimson...scarlet staining his hair. He was immaculate...ethereal and yet wholly terrible. But when Genesis trembled...it wasn’t in fear...but in _desire_. And in that desire he found fear...because the desire indicated that there was something ugly in him...something broken and unseemly. 

“Are you sure?” was the gentle supplication. It took the older man a moment to realize that Sephiroth was referring to when he’d said that his lover was not a serial killer. Swallowing, he scrubbed a frantic hand through his hair and blinked rapidly. When he didn’t respond, the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER sighed...like explaining himself was the greatest of theatrical tribulations. “Come now...tell me you don’t see it…” When Genesis just stared blankly at him, those lips curved into a knowing smirk...Masamune disappeared and he drew closer. Through the howl of the blizzard...The Demon of Wutai advanced...until they were inches apart. “Unless” he purred. “You _do_ see it.” 

This, at least, woke the older man up.

“I don’t” he spat. _”I don’t!”_

A dark chuckle.

“Such liars...humans, that is.” Cool breath ghosted over his lips...smelling strongly of copper and Genesis _knew_ Sephiroth could feel the thunder of his heartbeat. And he’d braced himself for an emotionless kiss when that cruel mouth bypassed his to invade the shell of his ear. “I suppose I could forgive you for impregnating me...our daughter is biologically perfect. She hearkens to me...to Mother, as she should. You didn’t ask permission, but you didn’t have much of a choice. That was the mistake of Shinra...to harness us...to girdle us in duty. So I took your seed because, despite my unwillingness, you are the most perfect genetic match I could ever hope to breed with.” When the redhead stiffened he ‘tsked scornfully. “Oh, did you think I came back because I loved you? You silly man. I came back because we’re scientifically compatible.” Another laugh. “And it was painful to be suppressed, for so many, many months...to be suffocated by the humanistic part of me that comes with gravidity. But you were a good mate...you were ideal.” A pause. “You’re still ideal, really. We could take this world you know...burn it to the ground and its filthy inhabitants with it. You would be mine...I yours...our daughter ours.” Those lips were back over his...supplicating, hot and soaked in carmine. “We could take this planet and ride it into the cosmos...populate a _new_ world...create a new race of people to rule over.” 

It wasn’t unattractive.

Standing in front of his blood-covered former partner with hundreds of bodies staining the ground around him...Genesis acknowledged that he wasn’t adverse to the idea. He hated Shinra with a passion, hated their power, hated the people weak enough to remain under their sway. But that didn’t dismiss the people who were slaves to the industry, didn’t change the fact that there were people hurting not because they had chosen corruption but because they had been forced into it. He wanted to run...but he didn’t want to be a God. Genesis had never wanted to rule...had never wanted power beyond proving himself equal to the individual before him. And there was a part of him deeply hurt by the fact that...whatever this was...could deny Sephiroth’s love. But if this was Sephiroth...truly Sephiroth...he didn’t know what to do. It was the mention of their daughter that brought him up short...that snapped him from carnal delirium like a slap in the face. Because he couldn’t let Saoirse be a pawn...regardless of biology. She deserved to live unfettered and unhindered...and the Sephiroth he knew… _his_ Sephiroth...would agree.   
A tongue brushed against the seam of his lips and he opened his mouth automatically...inhaled as copper soaked his taste buds, curled into his throat. It was _good_...it was heady and filthy and tremulous and _yes_....but no. He couldn’t...not without knowing one thing...not without confirming something first.. Genesis drew away by mere centimeters...far enough to speak...but no further.

“Tell me something” he murmured hoarsely. “What did you ask me...at the farmstead...what did you ask me to do to you, if you became like this?” 

There was a pause...a long pause...Sephiroth didn’t reply...appeared to try to supplicate him further...pressed against him demandingly and it would be so _easy_ to give in. They could forget what was around them...give themselves to their urges and fuck right there...in the blood-soaked snow as the world fell to ruins around them. Genesis could cast aside the tattered vestiges of his humanity and drink deep of the malevolence in his veins…’till he was saturated and dripping sin. But he was persistent...he was _insistent_...because he needed to know...needed to see. So when he was unyielding and hard beneath the ‘former General’s’ palms, the silver-haired ex-First sighed and opened his mouth.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” 

With those words...despair dragged him into the void.

Because no matter how much he _wanted_ this to be Sephiroth...this was not Sephiroth. Sephiroth was gone...consumed or corrupted or crushed. This was Jenova with Sephiroth’s voice...the lips kissing him were puppeteered, the body before him was possessed. It was biology, but it was the evolutionary monstrosity of natural selection. Jenova’s cells had deemed the human version of his lover inferior and then proceeded to eat him alive. He would not delude himself in thinking that there was hope...that he could be loved by the husk before him...this dead...cold thing that was a shadow of the powerful, insightful and genius man who had once been. And Genesis was close enough to the truth now that he could call Rapier...that he could accept the hungry, vicious kiss fed to him while it materialized in his palm. And he was shaking...he could not stop shaking...but there was no other option...there was no other course and he was broken...destroyed by what he was going to have to do. 

“Shall we go get our daughter?”

Whispered against his mouth, fingers tangled in scarlet-soaked hair. Genesis squeezed his eyes shut to stop the tears as their lips parted...panted in a strangled, despairing, _dying_ way. And he conjured in his mind every memory he had of his former lover...of his solemn...taciturn face...of the careful innocence in his eyes. Sephiroth sitting at his desk, studiously bent over paperwork...looking up with irritation when he walked in the door. Sephiroth sparring with him...dancing around him...a small smile on his visage as Genesis hid his rabid attraction behind witty phrases and cutting insults. Sephiroth curled up against him in his apartment, a little bit drunk but still very much present...watching a black and white film with his head on his shoulder. Sephiroth laughing, his head thrown back as they walked through HQ...Sephiroth glancing covertely at him out of the corner of one eye. Sephiroth wrapped in passion, watching as Genesis arched under him with a covetous expression..Sephiroth heavy with child...sitting on a mossy boulder in a forest, his gaze on a stream to their right… Sephiroth sleeping with Saoirse cuddled under one arm...his features lax...Sephiroth saying he loved him...all beautiful, warm eyes and a soft, vulnerable smile. Genesis felt his entire body spasm as he drew a wild gasping breath...as he steeled himself and buried his heart into the ground.

“No” he choked. “We won’t.” 

And Genesis swung Rapier up in a scarlet, rubicund arc...stepped back as he did so and executed a pivot he hadn’t in months. ‘Sephiroth’ didn’t have time to react...didn’t have time to break contact as he drove it up and through...straight through his heart with a howl that seemed to bring time to a cacophonous halt. And this was the only way...he would _honor_ the younger man’s request at the farmstead...because now he knew why he had asked. He couldn’t stop Sephiroth...no one could stop Sephiroth. But he would end this while he had the upper hand...for their daughter. For Saoirse. For the little girl lying in her crib waiting for her fathers to come home. And the expression on the younger man’s face didn’t change to pain until he hit the ground...until Jenova bled away and the only thing left was the last shred of the individual the former Commander had once known. Somehow...Genesis knew Jenova was gone...permanently. That what he had done had negated some type of link...that the debt hung over their shoulders was paid...and the price… _the price._

Sephiroth didn’t speak...couldn’t, with all the blood filling his mouth...but he looked at him...and it was a gentle look...a thankful look..,a look of understanding and love. Genesis sank to his knees...trembling like the last leaf on a tree in Autumn. He sank to his knees and scrabbled at the snow like he’d been the one stabbed because surely there was nothing worse than this...surely this was death...surely the universe couldn’t expect more from him than this. And the SOLDIERs around him were silent...were witness to the terrible truth of what Jenova had done...of their General...of the fact that their General had been consumed and they had betrayed him. The One Winged Angel died...in the middle of a whiteout...with the truth before those who could not see before. He died...and Genesis felt himself grow cold...felt everything he was burn up and float away... 

...Into swirling drifts, and the dark despair of all things bright and beautiful…

...all things love...all things loved and lost…

...all things Sephiroth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I feel that I should apologize for this chapter, because I know how final it seems. So firstly, I'm sorry for this. I know this was hard to read because it was difficult to write, but it was also a bit healing to write. Thank you kindly for reading.
> 
> **R &R**
> 
> There's a tad of a spoiler warning after this, for the sake of those of you that might want a bit of insight/reassurance so **SPOILER WARNING**  
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>  All hope isn't lost.


	22. Chapter 22

Angeal was very bored. 

This was making light of things in a rather extreme way, but he could safely sequester his emotions around _’bored’_ and call it a day in a way that didn’t make him feel uncomfortable. It was rather hard to tell whether or not it was night or day...considering his general locale, but when he was tired he went to bed and told himself it was night and that was it. When he woke up he felt as refreshed as he possibly could and there was food so it was ‘morning.’ It was a minimalistic way of looking at things but if he thought about it on a complex level he was going to chew his way through the floor. No, better that he remain as he was...in his rather uncomfortably small cell with no windows and a very hard cot and make as little of a fuss about it as possible. There wasn’t a day in his life when he’d _ever_ thought he would end up a prisoner, but that day had come and gone and gone and gone and now he’d adjusted as well as he possibly could. It was mundane...it was inactive...and it was terribly dull but he was alive. 

That was pretty much all he was; alive. 

He’d been over the scenario regarding his capture a thousand times in his head, and it didn’t do him any good. Angeal was fairly sure that his apartment had been bugged, and he was sincerely disappointed in himself for not thinking about it while Genesis was there. There was no other way anyone could have known; he’d told no one, spoken to no one prior to going down to the sewers. Packing his bags was a slow process...but he had time, or so he told himself. Angeal had known the minute he agreed to the scheme that there was no way he could return to HQ. Surveillance would see him leaving, they would know-or at least suspect-what he’d done...and he could hold against interrogation, but the importance of the subject of the interrogation would cause Administration to approve extreme means of extracting information. He had confidence in his ability to remain quiet when he was of sound mind, bleeding, beaten and broken or not. He did not have the confidence in his ability to remain quiet if they brought in Hojo. 

Angeal was not ignorant of what Hojo was capable of, and Sephiroth was his prize; Hojo would find a way to incapacitate him in ways they even the strongest of men would not be able to withstand. He could load him with amphetamines, drug him and loosen his tongue. Angeal was of sound mind, but he would not be of sound mind if the company resorted to medical methods of extraction. He could handle himself to all degrees of pain and suffering, but mind-altering substances were a great possibility, he’d seen them used before, and he would not take that risk. He figured, at the very least, that he could help his friends. Getting away wouldn’t be a horrible thing, and he was fairly sure-at the time-that they would need him. There was the very blatant issue of Genesis’ partial-infidelity, the fact that Sephiroth would be far more sensitive than he usually was. He could hunt, trap, and fish; his father had taught him early on; it wasn’t like he was going to be useless. Angeal had experience with living rough; he was used to surviving on very little, and the idea of life in the wild was not a frightening thing to him. So when he packed his bags full of rations, survival essentials and supplies, it was with honest and good intent. 

Intent, of course, didn’t get him very far.

He went to Genesis’ apartment and grabbed some of the redhead’s things; clothes and gear, a copy of Loveless and a picture of the three of them. He stopped by Outfitting and asked for more supplies on a vague mission premise. In retrospect, that might have been his downfall as well, but he’d wanted to be able to provide...because he knew what they were facing, and he truly wanted to be helpful. By the time he’d made it down to the ground floor, he was actually looking forward to it. It was exciting a little bit; the degree of rebellion. He’d hidden his resentments away when Sephiroth was apprehended because Genesis needed him, and he’d wanted to reform Shinra...truly wanted to. Angeal had worked very hard to sway the men, and to some degree it was working. There was discontent with their General’s sudden plunge into carnage, and his equally sudden disappearance. If people weren’t suspicious, they were angry, and HQ was providing no solid answers. So he started small; talked to the cadets about what he’d learned about Jenova in vague, middling snippets...let the information pass on naturally...sat back from afar while the men debated between themselves. People started to ask questions, people started to disappear and he started to feel guilty. This was around the time that Genesis shipped out to Junon.

Shinra was willing to go to great lengths to cover their tracks.

And by _’great lengths’_ it seemed that they were willing to kill those who got too curious. He lost a valued squadron of SECONDS, his second-in-command went mysteriously missing and Zack came back from a meeting with the President white-faced and unwilling to talk. It was what initially made him realize that no matter what angle he took to stir rebellion, HQ was going to shut him down. He didn’t have enough men on his side to stage a coup, and even if he did, there was no guarantee HQ wouldn’t have them executed by firing squad and use fear as a motivator rather than concealment. When a new recruit he’d spoken to came back from the Science Department with a haunted, blank stare, clear and virulent PTSD and blood running from what seemed like every orifice in his body, he despaired. Because he could whisper in willing ears, but he could not control what happened to those ears. He could not protect his men if he caused them to question that which was around them. Angeal wanted reform, but he did not want reform if it meant that those who had fought and suffered beside him died because of it. 

And so he went to the sewers.

He went, and at first it seemed like all was well. The space beneath HQ reserved for waste disposal was empty save for the wet drip of grimy water against aged concrete. He’d bought a motorcycle, spent a good amount of his stipend on one that had a sidecar so it would seat all of them and so Sephiroth wouldn’t be forced to brace himself against the wind in a too-uncomfortable position while they fled. He was fairly sure the youngest of their trio would refuse the seat; that Genesis or himself would end up in it because the former General wouldn’t want to spare a single ounce of his dignity, but he got it regardless. Angeal threw away his cell phone, loaded up the storage compartments, and slung the rest into a duffel bag that he could safely strap to his chest. For thirty minutes he busied himself with going over a checklist in his head of the places they could go without really coming to a definitive decision. Their most urgent requirement would involve getting out of Midgar unscathed; and that was not a simple thing to do from the Upper Plate. Feasibly, he could have taken them to the Lower Plate, but he wasn’t familiar enough with the constantly-shifting rotation of the slums, and he wasn’t comfortable with going there when they would be pursued by what amounted to an army of Turks, SOLDIERs, and intelligence officers. 

Then, the illusion ended.

Specifically, HQ came after him with six squadrons that he was entirely unfamiliar with; manned by men that were loyal to Shinra and no one else. He could remember the horror of the moment with terrible clarity; the eyeshine of dozens of rifles pointed in his direction; the roar of respective sergeants and the _***click**_ of cocked weapons. His fear didn’t come because of himself; it came because Genesis and Sephiroth would be effectively charging into a trap. They confiscated what he’d gathered; what was done with it, he didn’t know...but it was damning evidence against him and his intents. He was dragged back to Intelligence like a criminal, and he supposed that in Shinra’s mind, he was. Angeal didn’t fight, not because he didn’t want to, but because he was aware that anything he did could give him away...that anything he said in anger or worry could drastically lesson his friends’ chances of escaping. Angeal was thrown into an interrogation room, and the Turk that came to question him was someone he had never met before. 

It went on for hours.

Questions were carefully angled to his detriment, but he kept his mouth shut, refused to say anything. They accused him of treason, of sabotage, of intent to destroy SOLDIER and Shinra. That wasn’t entirely true, but he didn’t agree or protest because anything he said could be used against him. When they couldn’t get him to talk to normal way, they resorted to petty torture. Angeal had been through that before; had vague memories of being captured during an away mission when he was a Cadet...he knew how to breathe through it...knew how to center his thoughts, knew when to loosen his muscles and tighten them in order to lessen the pain. They were dissatisfied with him, but unwilling to resort to more extreme methods because of who he was. Lazard came in to speak with him then...sequestered somewhere in the low levels...chained to an iron table and bleeding profusely. The Director of SOLDIER came in and declared his ‘disappointment’ even as his eyes apologized desperately...as his white suede-clad fingers clenched and unclenched in sincere and severe distress and concern. Angeal couldn’t bring himself to be angry with him...couldn’t bring himself to resent the other people who’d been involved and yet failed to act on his behalf. There was only so much Deusericus could do, only so much Tseng could do. It was clear that Sephiroth and Genesis had escaped; the degree Administration was willing to go to extract information from him brought that to light. He supposed he ought to be grateful for that; so when they threw him in a cell and left him to rot...he didn’t cause trouble...because his friends were free. 

He spent his days worrying about the two of them, about his mother. He was sure the news of his capture would have reached her by now, and he knew he would be very lucky if it didn’t destroy her. Angeal’s mother was a good woman who had fallen for a terrible cause. He’d resented her for a long time, but now he just wanted to see her...to know she was alright...to know that she wasn’t sad or lonely. He supposed that it was very unlikely that she wasn’t lonely. Upon Circinae’s death, Gillian had written him a desperately unhappy...desperately sad letter stating that it was _’only a matter of time before Shikro went too far.’_ She said it like it was expected, but there was an undertone of cold disbelief. Angeal understood; Circinae Rhapsodos and his mother had both sacrificed their lives for their children. Had both acknowledged the terrible regime they had brought upon the tiny hands and faces that looked up to them and then drove themselves into the ground-literally and figuratively-to try and ensure that despite that, their children lived as progressively as possible. Gillian had found a kindred spirit in Genesis’ adoptive mother...someone who would come and visit her, who could quietly share her grief...and now she was gone. 

...And then Angeal was gone. 

When he thought about it too long, he wanted to tear the walls around him down...wanted to carve a hole up and through HQ to get to the woman who had tried so hard to give him a good life. He missed her terribly, worried for her even more and the guilt that came with the acknowledgement that he could do _nothing_ about it was nearly enough to kill him. Worrying about Zack was bad enough; he was sure that his protegee had faced hard times upon his absence. There was no guarantee that the dark-haired, energetic man whom he had instilled with his own values of honor and justice was not moldering in a cell directly next to him. He didn’t know if Fair would remain quiet upon his apprehension; didn’t know if he would be able to stand the responsibility that would be heaped upon him. Angeal was fairly sure they would promote him to FIRST; cover it with the guise of responsibility when really it was an excuse to keep an eye on him. Zack was clever, but he was no machinator of political and governmental regimes. He was lively, insightful and creative but he was no bureaucrat. 

Angeal spent his days worrying; and he knew it wasn’t helping himself or anyone else. There was so little he could do where he was, and so much he’d wanted to do elsewhere. He was reminded, and sometimes cowed, by his now-seemingly-flagrant mantra regarding dreams. There was a small part of him that still believed in those dreams, but the realist in him was despairing of their culmination. Sometimes, Lazard came down to see him. They talked neutrally, didn’t really offer each other much of anything at all. Tseng was less of a regular, and recently, he’d stopped coming altogether. He never saw Zack, but coming to see him would have been a massive risk for both of them, and he didn’t begrudge him his distance. Otherwise, he wiled away his time in a kind of frenetic concern for the external...for that which he couldn’t see and couldn’t change. Time passed...he didn’t know how much time...didn’t know if Genesis and Sephiroth would have their daughter by now...didn’t know if it was summer or winter...fall or spring. It was hard to remain positive, hard to see the bigger picture when his surroundings were so limited. 

It all changed.

It changed in a wave of fire and a rain of blood.

Looking back on it, Angeal wasn’t entirely sure how it happened...the specifics of it anyway. Only that he woke up in his cot and his biological clock insisted that it was too early. But the walls were shuddering, there was a sense of intense unrest...of _chaos_. It was a sinister, crawling feeling; like a spider creeping along the back of his neck...raising the sparse hair there with every metaphorical skitter upwards. Black...searching...seeking and the metal ‘cage’ around him shrieked as the foundations of HQ shuddered. Sitting up, the blue-eyed former FIRST scrubbed at his face, tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes. It was difficult to shake off the habitual sense of inertia, the obligation to inaction...but he rose eventually. By that time...dust was coming from the ceiling...there was the sound of gunfire...the retort of weapons. Closer...closer...and if they didn’t _stop_ the building was going to collapse on top of him. Some part of him acknowledge that he wasn’t exactly adverse to the idea...and that concerned him...more than the fact that the ceiling was spider webbing above him. 

The door to his cell shuddered violently...there was the sound of rushing feet, of arguing voices on the other side. He forced himself to remain calm. Whatever was coming, it had the upper hand. He was unarmed, he hadn’t had any kind of exercise in months...it would take him twice as long to build up to where he used to be. Granted, the mako in his veins kept him from being entirely without prowess, but that wasn’t enough to rely upon...he needed a skillset, and right now, his skillset was limited. So when the entrance of his cell was blown off its hinges-presumably because his ‘guest’ didn’t have the security code-he stood firm but kept his stance nonthreatening. Right now, he didn’t need to make any more enemies than he already had, however unwittingly. Angeal closed his eyes and let the dust settle around him, took a deep breath that was immediately clogged with cement-inundated oxygen. 

When he lifted his lids, Zack was standing in front of him.

It took him a minute to recognize him, not because he didn’t _know_ him but because it had been so long since he’d seen a single soul other than Lazard. His hair was longer...slightly dishevelled. He was wearing nothing even close to the SOLDIER uniform; appeared to have snagged a flight jacket and a pair of black cargo plants from who knows where in order to throw them on over what were quite clearly snow boots. There was a scratch above his left eye; a score really...bright red and dripping down to the lid. His nose appeared to be broken and there was a swiftly purpling bruise blooming along the left side jaw. Physically, he appeared to be otherwise in good health; there was no indication that he’d had any lack of exercise or that he was underfed. There was color in his cheeks, and a bright, glittering vitality to his eyes. Still...Angeal couldn’t help but feel like he was looking at someone slightly different...someone older...someone more aggrieved. 

Then-of course-Zack hugged him, and it was all out the window. 

_”Angeal!!”_

He had not-admittedly-taught his protegee about hugs; that was something Fair had come with...kind of like a package deal. And he didn’t dislike them, but he was much weaker than he once had been and it felt distinctly like his rib cage was dying a slow death of asphyxiation. Angeal returned the gesture as best he could, slapped the younger man on the back in a purely affectionate manner before succumbing to his body’s screaming need for air. 

_”Zack”_ he wheezed. “N-need t-to _breathe_..!” 

“Oh...oops right...you’re squishy” was the hasty comment as his former trainee let him go as quickly as he’d snatched him up. Appraising him in a friendly yet critical way, Zack raised an eyebrow. “Nice beard.” 

Angeal chuckled and stroked the aforementioned hairy addition.

“As soon as I can get hold of a razor, it’s back to the old four-o-clock” he replied with good humor. Sobering slightly, he looked at the younger man with concern. “What are you doing here? What’s going on?” 

A shadow flickered across ‘the Puppy’s’ face...one that he didn’t entirely like. It was uncertain...unhappy, and very sad. A black leather-clad hand came up to scratch at unruly onyx locks, and Zack appeared to gather his bearings before speaking.

“I think maybe you should ask Genesis.” 

Alarm coursed through the former Commander even as there was another cataclysmic explosion from the other levels.

“This is all Genesis?!” he demanded. “Why?? What is he doing?! He and Sephiroth had a chance to escape and he’s just-”

“-They _did_ escape” the younger man replied, an air of bitterness coloring his tone. “And they had their daughter...she’s real cute.”

Relief nearly dragged him to the floor. The sensation of assuagement was so strong that it took him a moment to realize that something was still wrong. Mainly...the fact that HQ seemed to be collapsing above them. 

“So...they survived” he said slowly, more as a statement than a question. “What’s going on now?”

Zack’s shoulders dropped further...and he appeared to hesitate a moment before gesturing to the door of his cell. There was someone else waiting there...a SOLDIER he only vaguely knew and didn’t work with personally. He was blond-haired, with deep blue eyes and a grim expression...something severely stern and solemn that reminded him a little bit of Sephiroth. The name Cloud Strife floated across Angeal’s mind, he nodded in acknowledgement when it did, unsurprised when he received nothing but the same in return. 

“We should walk...and talk” Fair said heavily. “I don’t...I don’t think I’m the right person to tell you.” 

It was a little daunting-so he discovered-to step out of his cell and into the real world again. A large portion of his existence had been dedicated to the dark...lonely room behind him, and when he stepped over the threshold the sensation of loss caught him entirely by surprise. Stuck in an anxiety-related inertia for a few moments, Angeal only moved again when Zack put a caring but concerned hand on his shoulder. It was strange to wander through the sublevels as he was; dressed in a detainment jumpsuit of a pale grey color...nothing but a pair of nondescript socks on his feet. He knew where they were; had escorted a few criminals down to the holds when he was still firmly entrenched in the hypnotism of Shinra’s regime. It was hard to tell if there was anyone else there now...he didn’t really look, but he couldn’t hear anybody. Usually, offenders at this level were fairly volatile, and in their volatility they were vocal. 

Admissions was destroyed.

Coming up from the elevator, Angeal had to stop yet again...had to gather his bearings. Normally, there were great glass doors leading to the entryway...accompanied by an array of desks and a receptionist’s stand. The windows were smashed to pieces...strewn across the white marble floors like lethal shards of glittering dust. The desks in question were tossed hither and thither...papers awry...blown into corners. He caught the glimpse of a body...a foot clad in a patent high heel stuck out from under a heavy bookcase; a dark...somewhat congealed-looking pool of scarlet spread outwards like a lethal tide. There were signs of resistance; bullet holes going out towards the entrance instead of inwards. Whoever it had been hadn’t used a firearm...there was no indication of its use on the opposing walls. With a sick feeling in his gut, Angeal looked at Zack, who wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Let’s go.” 

Strife’s tone brokered no grief or remorse...it surprised him a little bit. Because surely the blonde-haired man had known some of the people around him, surely he had bothered to talk to them. Instead, mako-blue eyes surveyed the scene dispassionately, as if this was what happened to people that were wayward. Glancing at his protegee again, Angeal acknowledged that the younger man’s guilt wasn’t so much directed at what was happening, but at the fact that his mentor had to see it. He was accosted with a terrible fear of cataclysmic change...of all that was crumbling before him like grains of sand in a sandcastle succumbing to the sea. Maybe this was what Shinra had always been; ready to fall at the slightest shift in the wind. The idea wasn’t comforting, not because he loved Shinra, but because the people involved in Shinra were not always evil...simply oppressed. He didn’t know how to conscience the fact that SOLDIER had likely had a hand in this...that this was the will of his men...at the very least the will of the men beside him.

The upper floors were no better.

They were worse...so much worse. It didn’t seem like anyone who was generally undeserving had really died; seemed that whatever this was...the unwitting had been allowed to evacuate. But the sense of stagnation...of emptiness and coldness...it was suffocating. He didn’t know why the impression was so heavy on him...why he felt that every step he took was another step towards some type of terrible horror. And he realized-quite suddenly-that there wasn’t much more he was willing to shoulder for all of this...that he was tired...that he’d been tired for a very long time. Administration was decimated...torn to shreds. Here...there was death...a lot of it. Executives who had sneered at him...at Genesis...at Sephiroth...they were strewn from the entryway to the elevator. They’d died painfully; agonizingly...in positions and manners that only a very creative and very desperate mind could make up. More prominent than that was the erraticness of it...the brutality...the blind, hungry and crazed method of dispatch. 

He noted Scarlet...and his heart clenched a bit. It was true that she was cruel...that she was a killer. But he’d always been under the impression that at the very least, she believed in what she was doing...in all sense of verity. Maybe he was wrong...maybe he was blinded...he didn’t know. Really, he didn’t know anything that had gone on since he’d been away. For all he knew Shinra had taken over the world...had enforced their rule to a degree that SOLDIER had been forced to stage a coup. ...But this didn’t feel like a coup; it felt like a mass-execution. 

Genesis was waiting on the landing pad.

But it wasn’t Genesis. Angeal took one look at him, and some small kindling of positivity died...like a flame gone out in the wind. He was covered in blood, yes. Rapier dangling listlessly at his side as he stared out into empty space...at the glow of the reactors. When the doors slid open, he absentmindedly acknowledged that it was cold...so cold that it had to be the dead of winter for it to affect him. The sky was a steely grey, forbidding, untouchable. The roar of the Planet being sucked into an-assumably-now dead industry was deafening. It rattled his eardrums after being in the silence and dark for so long. His childhood friend turned and it was like looking at a shell...like the body before him was an empty husk with a shade haunting it. Genesis looked like a man destroyed...looked like everything in the world had gone from him...had fled before him and he was nothing but this hollow, rattling container of flesh and bones. There was none of the irascibility, none of the great joy taken in a bad joke or a terribly expensive glass of wine. The redhead seemed burdened by a weight so heavy it was strangling him. His eyes were feverish and alight but they were desperate and lonely and _sad_. And Angeal didn’t have to ask to know...merely had to look and see to acknowledge what had happened.

Sephiroth was dead.

He didn’t know how he had died, why, or when...only that it was a truth. His absence made the verity of it so stark it seemed to stab him in the gut. And he couldn’t imagine what the older man was feeling, _could_ imagine that it was very hard to feel anything at all. Angeal didn’t know what to say, what to do, Zack and Cloud had stepped away...and he suddenly felt weak and frail and _useless_ before the terrible loss that was laid in front of him. He had always looked up to Sephiroth, had always admired him. At first, for his prowess on the battlefield, and then for his clear intelligence. Sephiroth was quiet and haunted and desperately lonely and he had practically fallen over his feet to be his friend because he wanted him to know that brothers were brothers...forever. Genesis went about it differently-being in love could do that to a person-but the aim was rather the same, even if it was romantically inclined.

Both of them had worked very hard, had gone to great lengths to make Shinra’s Finest feel secure with them. So when he stepped forward...when he hastened to close the gap between himself and his former comrade, it was with the knowledge that they remained, and that they had to remain together. He pulled Genesis into a hug...dragged his forehead down to his shoulder and clasped the back of his head like he used to when they were stupid teenagers crying over this or that girl. It was different-of course-so different...so inherently intimate...but it was all he could think to do. Angeal pulled Genesis close and tried to communicate his remorse, his apology, his grief...tried to reach him when it was so painfully clear that he was beyond reaching.

“I’m sorry” he said hoarsely. “Genesis, _I’m so sorry._ ” 

And the redhead seemed to collapse...though it was more of a psychical collapse than physical. Fingers dug into his shoulder blades when the former First reached up to reciprocate...grabbed until it was almost painful and the breath that the aforementioned man let out was nearly a yell in its intensity; seemed to shudder through him. He supposed he ought to be glad that at the very least Genesis was responding...that he was acknowledging his comfort and not outwardly rejecting him. 

“I killed him.” 

Small...said in such a small voice...so broken...so terribly bewildered. Angeal acknowledged the statement and let it go...understood that there were circumstances behind it that he couldn’t possibly comprehend. 

“J-Jenova...when Saoirse...when the baby-she-she was born and he was going away. J-she- _took him_ from me. And he was going to take her, he was going to take our daughter...and I couldn’t-!” Another shudder, this one stronger than the last. “I ran him through...like he was a _criminal_ , like he was an enemy on the battlefield...I put Rapier straight through him and left him to _bleed out_ on the ground because I was afraid-because I couldn’t _fix_ him and he didn’t TALK to me!” 

By the time he was finished talking, Genesis’ voice had risen to a hysterical yell. He seemed consumed by the emotionalism behind it. Angeal, for one, was _horrified_ because the type of psychological trauma that could come from this was monstrous. The man before him had been forced to kill the body of his lover while something entirely different crept beneath his skin. Sephiroth had-effectively-been infested and then disposed of, and while most might have seen it as a mercy, it wasn’t. It was-in the eyes of the man who loved him-murder. His childhood friend thought he had murdered his partner, the father and mother of their child. And he had likely been there to watch him go through the pregnancy, had most certainly been there for the birth...and then to kill him...to leave him...to dispatch him. 

“-Genesis” Angeal interrupted when the older man opened his mouth to speak to him again. “I…” he floundered, lost in the catastrophe of it all. “I’m not going to tell you it’s not your fault, because I think that’s the last thing you’d want to hear. But I’m here for you, and I’m _sorry_ I wasn’t before. I wasn’t there for either of you, I could have helped-”

“-Oh shut up Angeal” Genesis’ voice was a sneer, dripping with disdain. It was tinged with a macabre kind of laughter even as the older man drew back and looked at him with a face twisted with scorn. “Stop being fucking noble for once, stop trying to shove that shit in my face. My partner is dead, I gutted him like a pig. Nothing you say is going to make that fucking better.” A shove, and the dark-haired former FIRST stumbled back with it, allowed the gesture to put some space between them. “Don’t act like anything you say can fix this, don’t play the martyr when there’s nothing left to save.” 

“What about your daughter?” he asked numbly. “What about her?”

For a moment, the redhead’s face seemed to spasm...he couldn’t read the emotion that passed over it...could only tell that it was tinged with a terrible sense of loss...of longing. 

“I’m leaving” Genesis spat. “I’m going to Wutai. Gaia knows that she’ll be better off without me in her life.” Angeal must have looked shocked, because the laugh that spilled from cerise lips was tinged with a kind of frenzied hysteria. “What?! You think I should stay?! You think I should explain to my daughter that I _killed her father_ when she’s old enough to understand it?!” Another laugh. “No, she’s safe, with Aerith, with Zack, with you.” 

“What, and you think Wutai is going to give you the answers you’re looking for?” Angeal barked back, forgetting himself in the heat of the moment. “Just because you’ve lead a military regime there, because you know the language doesn’t mean the people are going to welcome you with open arms! Their culture is dying because of the modernization of the world and you think that waltzing in and leaving all this behind is going to make them _like_ you?! You’ll stick out like a sore thumb!” He gestured furiously. “If there is a culture that puts more emphasis on family than Wutai, I haven’t met them. You think abandoning your family to chase your grief elsewhere is going to be attractive to them?! You’re from a company that has littered this world with carnage! Shinra _just fell_ , maybe half an hour ago! Before then, they were under its control! You think that a nation that has spent the good majority of its existence trying to quell the tide of modern industrialization, that has been terrorized by people like us is just going to _love_ you?!” 

“It’s not about love!” Genesis shouted back. “It’s about… _peace!_ Being alone! About erasing what I knew, what I _know_ , what I’ve done!” 

“You’re a coward” Angeal growled. “And I’m not dismissing your grief, but you’re a coward. And if you think Wutai can fix that, you’re also an idiot. You have a daughter, you have people that care about you here. This isn’t what Sephiroth would have wanted-”

 _“-Fuck Sephiroth!”_ was the shriek. “What the hell has Sephiroth done?! Given me a daughter that I don’t know how to care for?! Fucking lost his stupid brain and handed it over to an alien psychopath and then _died_ for no good reason at all?! Maybe it’s time to think about what I want!” 

“‘What you want’” the younger man scoffed. “What _you_ want, but at the expense of what to others? And at what expense to yourself? You think that where you’re going is going to be _kind_ to you? Get your head out of your ass. Give me a break” he staggered slightly, his head swimming. “Genesis, you have never been a greater disappointment to me than you are right now.” 

“Fine” the redhead snarled. “Then I’ll take Saoirse with me.”

“Oh you will?” Angeal snorted. “Really? You’re going to take her halfway across the world to a foreign country where she’ll grow up entirely different from those around her? Where her father and her _dead_ father killed half the population? Where she’ll be bullied for being different? Because let me tell you Genesis, if you think kids are bullied here, you should see Wutai’s educational system. Only the smartest make their way to the top, and certainly not those that are different. You think that’s an environment to raise a child in? Do you really want that?!” 

He swayed again and this time he stumbled. _Grief_. There was so much grief, and then this...he didn’t know how to deal with this. If Genesis left...if he chose to live an invisible life, he didn’t know what he was going to do. And if he left without Saoirse, there was a good chance that she would never forgive him once she got older...once she understood the monumental betrayal that was his abandonment. 

“Have you even researched the place beyond the media? Have you ever actually talked to a _citizen?_ ” he wheezed. “Do you even know what you’re walking into? How much this is going to hurt you and the people who love you?” 

“‘Geal” it was Zack this time, a hand was on his back. “Dude, you’ve gotta calm down.” 

“My _friend_ ” Angeal responded through clenched teeth. “Is choosing to abandon his daughter because he can’t stand the thought of having to raise her.” He jerked away from the touch. “Don’t tell me to calm down.” Straightening, he shivered against the breeze...against the silence...against the cold indifference in sapphire eyes. Turning, he made his way back to the lift doors before looking over his shoulder. “...You’re a disgrace, Genesis” he said flatly. “You know what it’s like to be disregarded, to be abandoned. Until you’re ready to step up, I don’t have anything else to say. And I’m sorry about Sephiroth, but you know that Sephiroth’s memory deserves better than this.” 

Angeal left...with those words on his lips, he left to see what he could salvage of something that used to be beautiful. He would-he decided-bury Sephiroth on his own if he had to...would make something of this nothing...would persevere, if only because there was a distinct possibility he was going to have to swiftly become a co-parent. And his were harsh words...angry words...but they were honest words. Maybe that honesty had fallen on deaf ears...ears that were blinded by a vision that would ultimately culminate into so much dust...would fail to thrive...would become something dark and desperate in the earth. Maybe that was where they all belonged...in shallow graves facing the sun. Maybe this was all a dream.

After all, nightmares...like dreams, can come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I dunno, this chapter started out well and then Angeal lost his temper.
> 
> There's some explanations regarding scenarios left out here; they will be explained in the next chapter.
> 
>  **Edit:** This chapter is both a flash-forward and a partial flash-back, to expound on the above. There will be material to fill in the blanks, but I think that at this point this is extraneous information.


	23. Chapter 23

How do you deal with the loss of something promised?

Standing in Sephiroth’s old apartment at HQ with every bone in his body numb, Genesis came to the concrete conclusion that he didn’t know. He didn’t know how to conscience the immense egress of something that felt like the other half of his soul...didn’t know how to cope...didn’t know how to face it without facing himself. His partner’s absence was a gaping wound pounding a hedonistic heartbeat just below his sternum. At times, it ached like fire...other days...it was a static lack of sensation. He’d heard it described once...when he was younger; heartache...heart _break_. Standing in a cozy cafe, he’d been privy to the conversation between a granddaughter and a grandmother who had just lost her husband of-so he assumed-considerable years. At the time, he hadn’t understood the terrible significance of it...had scorned the concept of loving someone so thoroughly and so long.

_”Your grandfather was the light of my life...I miss him so...I hear him everywhere...sometimes I think I can see him...the back of his head just up the corner from the market...his jacket in a crowd…”_

Oh, and he’d been so scornful of her quavering voice...of the way her hands trembled as she spoke...of her quivering jowls and her knitted tartan. Genesis had been hateful towards an old woman who was pining for the man who had likely carried her...who she had likely carried, through decades. What was age? He had thought. Nothing but a monstrosity...nothing but the inevitable and why cling to life when you had so little to live for? When you had nothing to do but complain about those who had gone before you? Now… _now_...the derisive dismissiveness of his youth was horrid. Because if this was the pain Sephiroth’s absence was causing him, he could not imagine how much pain she had been in….couldn’t imagine her lying down at night...staring into the dark and wishing for someone who wasn’t there anymore. Maybe when things progressed naturally you learned to expect it...maybe that was why people didn’t age and die like the mayfly; because the human psyche could not handle such abrupt mortality.

Mortality, he’d decided, was a trickster in the guise of wisdom.

It wasn’t right...and he desperately pined for greater insight in earlier days, but there was nothing for it now. And it wasn’t like anything their partnership entailed came with a guarantee of concrete togetherness. They were SOLDIERs, and then they were fugitives. SOLDIERs expired on the battlefield, and fugitive lived lives of fear or were eventually apprehended and gunned down. Nothing about their lives was a permanent concept, and he’d been fully aware of that. The acknowledgement of this didn’t make it hurt any less, didn’t heal the dark chasm in his heart. Awareness could only get you so far, and he was cognizant of the fact that his internal ephanies didn’t change the fact of his loss...didn’t make anything easier to bear. If anything, it only amplified his previous state of ignorance, made him angry, made him bitter towards the world and it’s failure to allow its subjects to be wholly circumspect.

A part of him whispered that he could have done something...that he could have changed something. Days ago now...crouched over the lifeless body of the man he had loved...Genesis had howled to himself that he could have made a difference if he hadn’t been so fucking stupid. He’d gathered the remaining men and led the attack on Shinra...left the physicality of his lover’s body on snowy ground because he was blind with grief and rage. If he had no one to blame...he’d have to turn to himself...he couldn’t do that. Not now. He _refused_ to shoulder the blame and so he’d gathered the men he could...the men who had seen...who had survived, who understood. He could barely remember the subsequent hours...could barely recall what he had done or said that roused the troops to his cause. Maybe they’d gone because they were terrified of him, he didn’t know. Zack had met him at some point between Kalm and Midgar...had tried to reason with him. Saoirse was with Aerith, he said...she was safe. The mention of his daughter brought the grief fresh...drove the enraged and slavering haze from his mind long enough that he nearly dropped to the ground.

They compromised.

It wasn’t a compromise...not really. Letting a couple hundred or so nameless office grunts from HQ before attacking it was petty fodder. There was no challenge in killing them, they hadn’t done anything; they were ignorant. Fair put in a call to someone who sounded clinically depressed and that was that. Getting into Midgar was easy; there were very few troops stationed, and what little were there were clearly ready to lay down their arms. They dispatched a decorated General who had called Sephiroth a girl too many times for Genesis’ liking and those who were reluctant quickly fell in line after that. The way through the city was surreal, mostly because he hadn’t been there in so long. He felt distinctly out of place...moving through asphalt and towering skyscrapers like a phantom from days gone past. People stopped to look at them...stopped to observe...but they didn’t say anything or try to interfere.

It occurred to him that the populace-of all those affected-had possibly been treated the worst by Shinra. They were taxed to an inhumane degree, driven sometimes to ruin by the massive economical scheme HQ used to keep them in line. Money went to the rich...there was a severe, tangible gap between those who had quite a lot and those who had very little. The slums were worse...of course, but it didn’t change the terrible, tangible truth that the regime he had followed abused those who weren’t of interest. Sometimes...they abused those who were of great interest. He’d told himself a long time ago that that was how the world worked, that the hard-working and lucky made their way to the top like he had. Now, of course, he knew better. Genesis had made it to the top because he’d essentially been set up to get there in the first place. The men he’d trained with, who he’d scoffed at in private for ‘not practicing hard enough’ for ‘slacking off’ were simply not on the fast-track to stardom. He had-effectively-followed his fate like a dog chained to a leash. He didn’t know what was more painful; the fact that he’d always been one step ahead, or the fact that he had never had a choice in the matter.

It wasn’t a fight...not really.

A tactician would have called it a massacre. They started at the ground floor, and Genesis gave explicit orders for the troops to hang back. He didn’t want to be headed off on the first move; wanted their way to be unfettered by patrol officers or members of the Turk division. Zack was met by the depressed voice which turned out to be a blonde with blue eyes who the redhead didn’t recognize and didn’t care about. Killing the secretary was an accident; she was crushed under a bookcase...but the emotionlessness that came with it was somewhat startling. As he swung his sword to head off a patrol rushing towards them, Genesis wondered if this was what Sephiroth had felt...this emptiness...this sense of terrible inward void. The Science Division was his first target...because his head was filled with violent, bloody fantasies involving Hojo. The redhead sent several squadrons up to deal with the rest of the rabble before plunging into the Purgatory of Medical with a savage purpose. If anyone had to suffer this, it would be him, he’d decided. Genesis would show the man who had brutalized his partner the _definition_ of brutality. As the elevator descended, a small iota of his psyche acknowledged that this was not how he would find peace...this would not bring him the recompense he sought, but he brushed it to the side.

Hojo wasn’t there.

They scoured every floor down to the sublevels...and Shinra’s resident mad scientist was nowhere to be found. Standing in the hallway next to Sephiroth’s old cell...where he had sat for months and months...Genesis had turned on Zack. He’d shouted accusations at the younger man in regards to being a mole...about not knowing who he could trust. The awful, terrible things he’d hissed would likely have destroyed their relationship completely if Strife hadn’t stepped in. That was his name...Strife; Cloud Strife. The blonde stepped between them...into the space where the former Commander’s face was twisted into a snarl and Zack’s was a mask of agony...of confusion and hurt. Cloud put both hands on either of their chests and told them to stop it; quietly...wearily. Like this was something he’d seen a thousand times before...like this was merely a single avenue in the possibilities of a thousand happenings. It didn’t quell Genesis’ rage, but it did put things into perspective….let him yank himself back with a curse before pivoting to glare mutinously at their mediator.

_”Shut the fuck up blondie.”_

_”Yes sir, sorry sir.”_

They let the techs go; which was a nice way of saying they let them live so they could face fair trial. Most of them were petty cowards, or from poor families with little to no opportunity to progress save for latching onto the evil around them. If Genesis had had his way...even a little bit, he’d have hung them from the reactors individually...inch by inch...made it slow...made it last...until their final gasps of life were staring into the luminescent green void they would soon become a part of. He’d have made them suffer in recompense for the suffering they had caused. Because you could lead sheeps to slaughter but you couldn’t make them kill their kin without due cause. Cause...for him was quite enough to warrant vengeance. Still...he listened to Zack, in a dull...acceding kind of way that didn’t make him feel any better. He sat by as the techs filed out, fingering Rapier until the edge bit into his forefinger. He supposed that the fact that they killed some of the head scientist should have felt like vindication; but it didn’t. Instead, the more they killed, the closer he got to the concrete fact that this was not going to make him happy.

They made it up to the President’s floor maybe two hours later; found him sitting at his desk in his office putting up a brave front with a check in hand...like any amount of money could make this go away. Staring at the slip of paper held out to them in fat, trembling fingers, Genesis laughed. He laughed and it was ugly and horrible and painful in a way that left him shaking and weak. Looking at six zeros...a miniscule sum of money proffered in exchange for so many lives, so much heartbreak and so much agony, there was nothing else he could do. It reminded him of Shikro, of his flagrant disregard for human worth in the face of financial gain...reminded him of his childhood...of his mother. Trussed up in a pinstriped suit, clear fear in watery eyes that had turned blindly towards tyranny time and time again...and it was still monstrous. He hadn’t thought himself capable of more hate...but he was _more_ than capable of hating bribery.

In the end, his death was merciful.

_Too_ merciful, maybe...but Genesis didn’t have the patience or the heart for the savagery that had licked at his heels upon Sephiroth’s death. He wasn’t-he acknowledged-like Sephiroth at all; maybe he had never really known him. Maybe that had been his great failure in their relationship; that he had seen the humanity over the primalistic instinct pounding through the younger man’s veins. Putting Sephiroth in the SOLDIER program was like putting a feline carnivore in a gilded cage. Like trussing up a cat, teaching it how to speak and expecting it to go through the motions indefinitely. They shared similar cells, but his purpose was distinctly averse to the individual whose body was lying frozen in the Northern tundra. He wanted retribution, but he didn’t want to play with those who deserved it. So when he slit Shinra’s throat it was with the knowledge that this was a means to finality...even though he didn’t know what that finality was.

Angeal had a right to be angry.

His words were painful, but they were also true. And he didn’t want to go to Wutai...he didn’t. Wutai was where this nightmare had begun in the first place...Wutai was a shadowed, desecrated memorial metaphor for the suffering that had come in its wake. From the black wound at his shoulder to his ‘death’ to that fateful night in Sephiroth’s quarters to his sudden and abrupt passing. Genesis was fairly sure if he went to Wutai, he would kill himself. Not only because of the memories there but because of the blatant truth that he was abandoning his daughter. He’d stood on the helipad for hours after his childhood friend’s departure...looked out at the expanse that was Midgar as his mind careened between despair and resignation. He knew he had a choice to make, knew that he had to get off this theoretical carriage of death and destruction in order to face himself, he just didn’t know how.

He was _afraid_.

Sephiroth’s quarters were empty...as they had been the morning he woke up to find the younger man taken. There was-once more-no sign anyone had lived there at all. Genesis had showered with the memory of being pressed gently against the tiles...with the recollection of large, long-fingered hands curling over his waist until one stroked possessively down from his chest to his abdomen. And they hadn’t had sex that time...they’d just stood there under the spray...holding each other. If the redhead closed his eyes and thought about it hard enough...he could almost hear the soft whisper of breath over his earlobe...almost feel the ghost of long platinum strands of hair trickling over his shoulder.

He stood there until he was wrinkled and overheated but still shivering, and then he stood there until he was sobbing against the square ceramic at his forehead. It wasn’t cleansing in the least...didn’t feel like recompense as his chest heaved and his shoulders shook until he was red-faced and weak-kneed. It felt like loss all over again...felt like he would never be free of this…and he didn’t know if he wanted to be. Because he had _loved_...he had loved and loved and then he had lost in what seemed like a shattered, fractured moment in time. And he couldn’t stop thinking of him...couldn’t stop thinking of his voice...of how he looked in the dark...of the way his skin felt under his palms; he couldn’t stop thinking of his eyes and his smile and the careful, thoughtful way he looked at him...like he was something important instead of something spoiled and angry and dramatic and materialistic.

And so he remained.

Genesis didn’t know how he managed to force himself to move; how he’d gotten out and dried off and found clothes. The latter, at the very least, he was fairly sure was Zack. The dark-haired First had followed him from the helipad like he was afraid of letting him out of his sight...and he probably had good reason to be. There were clothes and necessary items for grooming outside the bathroom door when the redhead mustered the motivation to use them, and there was an inflatable mattress and an air pump in the living room where it had been previously empty before. Staring at it...the older man wasn’t entirely sure if he could sleep there...if he could find even the slightest modicum of rest in an apartment with so many phantoms. Instead, he moved to the windows. Dressed in a nondescript pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, he looked between the slats until his eyes felt glazed...until his mouth was dry and his head was pounding.

Someone knocked at the door.

Specifically, that someone was Angeal and he entered directly after knocking. Genesis didn’t have to look to know that it was him; he was distinctly familiar with what the dark-haired First sounded like when he was coming up from behind. They had too many shared memories of ambushes in childhood and then of tactical lineups later in life to not to know each other in such a way by now. Some very small, very petty and weak-willed facet of him insisted he ought to be angry...that he ought to be resentful. Angeal had dismissed his grief, had attacked him in a vulnerable moment and run with the concept while he was splitting apart at the seams. He knew-however-that most of his former comrade’s anger had come in defense of Saoirse and in fear for him. It was very hard to remain upset with such considerations in mind. As the blue-eyed ex-First drew level with him, the redhead remained silent because he didn’t know how to express what he was feeling in words...didn’t know how to explain his thought process without falling victim to his barely-concealed grief.

“Talk to me.”

Angeal’s voice was subdued, quiet and laden with sadness but somehow still warm. And he had missed him...more than the manly part of him would like to admit. During those long months in the wild, Genesis had missed him because he always seemed to know just the right thing to say to motivate him to keep moving forward. It was nothing compared to-and different from-the way he missed Sephiroth...but he’d still yearned for his counsel...because friends were always there to lend a helping hand. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Genesis closed his eyes and exhaled.

“...About what?”

There was the sound of shifting...of movement and he cracked open his eyelids to see his childhood friend sink to the floor cross legged. He was wearing a containment jumpsuit, and something about that irritated him, because Angeal couldn’t be a criminal if he wanted to be.

“About anything, Genesis. How you’re feeling, what you’re not feeling.” A pause. “Just...tell me...from the beginning. Take your time.”

It was easier said than done.

He didn’t really know where to start...didn’t know how much he could handle talking about before he got upset...before he got angry. In the end, the older man started with their departure from HQ...their flight to the Northern Continent. It was hard to think about the farmstead...about the quiet mornings they’d spent there. Harder still to think about how fleeting it all seemed now, how impermanent the reality of their solace really was. Genesis talked about the pregnancy, because he’d never really had anyone to talk to about it save for the man experiencing it before...and Sephiroth was always so reticent in acknowledging it. He talked about how grumpy the silver-haired man was in the afternoon, how much he hated not fitting in a pair of pants. Genesis talked about Mati, about the nomad camp and the ridiculous amount of food they were forced to eat. He talked about how Sephiroth was mistaken as a girl and how nobody seemed to care that he clearly wasn’t a girl. Forward...weeks and months and then the djinn, the horrible pain of realizing his death yet again only to have it snatched from him again.

The redhead talked about Lucrecia...about the cave...he raged about the woman who claimed to be a mother when she wasn’t anything-in his eyes-but a coward. He talked about their long and arduous trek to Icicle Inn; made sure that Angeal knew how much his protegee had helped them and the pride in those blue eyes was distinct and fierce. Genesis glossed over the birth...not because he thought that detail wouldn’t be handled well, but because he knew how intense and intimate it had been for Sephiroth. Just being in the same room with him while it was happening had filled him with a monumental feeling of awe. Describing Saoirse was harder, because it was difficult to put so much emotion, so much love into something so simple as words. He stumbled over the monumental greatness of it, got tangled up on his tongue until Angeal told him to take a break...to step back...told him that he understood. They both knew it was an egregious statement; that comprehension and experience were two entirely different things. Explaining Sephiroth’s mental deterioration was his breaking point, because it was like living it all over again. Elucidating how those green eyes became haunted and pained and distant brought him to his knees and he _blamed_ himself...because what else could he do?

“He _wanted._ to die” Genesis gasped into the carpet. “Angeal, he wanted to die, and I didn’t want him to, and then I killed him-! I-” 

“-You didn’t.” The dark-haired man moved to sit next to him, put a comforting hand on his shoulder even as he appeared to try and keep his distance. “You didn’t kill him” his childhood friend repeated firmly. “Jenova killed him, and he knew...he knew what was coming, and he died to save you...to save your daughter.”

The redhead scoffed in watery manner and jerked away.

“Yeah, well, that’s a pretty fucking selfish thing to do” he replied brokenly. “I didn’t ask him for that, I didn’t want that...I wanted him to live. And I loved him. I loved his stupid face and his stupid attitude and his dumb way of showing affection.” His breath hitched dangerously, and when he spoke again his voice was suffused with tears. “I loved his hands and his eyes and his hair and every little thing he did and he _left me_. He left me, and I still love him-” He choked on his own words. “-And _I’m_ selfish...I’m selfish because I’m afraid that I’m never going to stop loving him...that there will always be this...huge…” Enunciating what he was feeling was impossible, he gestured wildly until his hand made a dull sound as it hit the carpet in defeat. “ _Void_ ” he spat. “This place-” a hand rose to cover his chest. “-Here, it’s empty...it’s empty and it’s horrible and I  _hate_ him.” He repeated it three times before he had to press his mouth into a tight line to keep from howling it to the bare walls. “I do” Genesis snapped thickly at length. “I do, and I _don’t_ and it makes me furious and it _hurts_.”

 There was silence after that; a weighted silence. In some ways...it helped...and in some ways it didn’t. It didn’t because it didn’t free him of the immense sense that he was broken. That there was something missing from his life that he would never get back. Some part of him whispered that he was severely traumatized by the whole ordeal; that you couldn’t come out of an experience like the one he’d endured without mental scars. Genesis knew what assisted suicide was, knew the base parameters of what he had done when you removed the complexities of it. He was fairly sure he would never love someone again, the mere idea of it was terrifying because he couldn’t stand the thought of losing someone again. At the same time, he now had a daughter, he had a responsibility to raise her, to care for her and he would not have time for romance in the muddle that was parenthood. He didn’t-at the moment-entirely resent that. Genesis was aware that many people would see a child-especially a child born into such circumstances-as baggage; but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“Do you remember when you joined the Youth Adventure Club in Costa Del Sol?” There was a pause. “The Squiddy Squallers or whatever it was.”

For a moment, Genesis had no idea what Angeal was talking about, and when he did, he had no idea why the hell he was bringing it up. Scrubbing at his face with a kind of furious determination, he took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Yeah” he said shortly. “What of it?”

“I was extremely upset with you for going” was the blunt response.

This surprised him enough to lower his hands and look at the man beside him.

“...Why?”

“Because you didn’t tell me you were going” Angeal mumbled. “And I did figure out eventually that your parents forced you to go, but we had the whole summer planned out, and I was a little crushed.”

Genesis stared at him.

“Okayy” he said slowly, a thin vein of anger lacing his tone. “I’m so fucking sorry my shithead Dad roped me into this posh summer camp over a decade ago and you only had the balls to tell me you were salty about it when the love of my life died. I would tell you to get a grip but I think that time has come and gone.”

“That’s not my point” was the exasperated reply. “My point is that I was upset, but then I realized that you probably didn’t tell me because you were just as disappointed.” He shifted slightly on the carpet. “Sephiroth...he didn’t tell you, I think, because he was likely disappointed in himself...afraid and wanting to save those moments with you because-in his eyes-they were the only moments he had left. He was protecting you, and maybe he was doing it to both of your detriment...but Genesis...in this sort of situation, you _have_ to think about intent.”

The former Commander considered his words...because they were probably true, and because he _wanted_ to believe that they were true, but he couldn’t think past his grief, his self-hatred, and his resentment.

“It’s hard to think about it that way” he said flatly. “Angeal, it’s hard to think at all.”

“I know” was the swift response. When the redhead gave him a blank stare, he exhaled and shook his head. “I _don’t_ know” he amended gently. “But I comprehend what you’re saying. And I’m sorry for my words earlier, on the helipad. I was upset, I was scared for you. You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you too. I think that’s a little bit selfish of me, to put my grief before yours, but I support you, and I want you to...I want you to live this in a way that leaves you with the least amount of regrets possible.” The hand returned to his shoulder and waited until he looked at him again, and Angeal’s face was sincere and kind and sympathetic. “Genesis, the only thing I know-the only thing I _knew_ at the time-was that if you left your daughter, you would not survive the fallout of abandoning her, and the least I could do was try to prevent it.”

“I think it’s a little late for regrets” the scarlet-haired former Soldier whispered.

Angeal smiled, and it was a painful, bitter sort of smile.

“But it’s not too late to keep yourself from creating new ones.”

He was right. Sometimes, Angeal was painfully right in ways that made Genesis want to do _painful_ things to him to see how far he could push him before that correctness was overshadowed by anger and agony. It had always been that way...his fellow recruit...his childhood friend was always the steady one...always looking out for others when he could do a lot better if he just looked out for himself. There were times when he didn’t understand such selflessness, especially when it came to the detriment of the giver. Until very recently, he’d never been the self-sacrificing type because it seemed counterproductive to his agenda.

“I hope you never fall in love” Genesis said bitterly. He didn’t miss the way Angeal flinched, nor did he neglect to notice how he seemed to withdraw into himself for a moment. “I’m sorry” the redhead muttered. “I don’t-I just-” he felt his shoulders slump. “It wasn’t a kind thing to say.”

Angeal’s expression was carefully understanding, and when he spoke again, the words that came out of his mouth were equally so.

“I think” he said slowly. “In consideration for the situation…”

“...It’s just the kind of thing a friend would say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I don't really know how tangible these chapters are; ones that sort of hanker on regarding the emotionalism behind the character, but I like writing them, and I sort of hated the rift between Angeal and Genesis. 
> 
> Edited for serious formatting errors
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning:** Somewhat graphic descriptions of torture, vague mentions of sexual assault. Extremely depressing chapter.

”Sir, maybe we should let up for a while.”

_Cold...everything was cold. Everything was numb and static and empty in a manner that eclipsed the knowledge that he was still a living, thinking, breathing human being. There was pain...somewhere. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint where; he didn’t know if the pain was physical or psychological. It was hard to focus when the entirety of his current existence felt like he was looking out from a bubble of coagulated white noise; like everything around him was shielded by a thin but impermeable film of static. Ears...there was something wrong with this ears. If he could compare it to anything, it was like pressing the aforementioned appendages to the opening of a seashell; like hearing the roar of the ocean, but with each second that ticked by it came closer...closer...louder. A metaphorical tidal wave...an assault on his auditory awareness. Its approach was accompanied by a pulsation; in and out...like the thrum of a pelagic heartbeat._

“If you’re going soft on me Sergeant, you can get out. There’s no room for softness with traitors.”

_Something cracked, something flashed across his vision like a shooting star. It was hot… **so hot**...like an iron brand inexplicably thrown into the starry skyscape of his psyche. He threw up...or at least he thought he did; he retched, maybe. There didn’t seem to be anything left inside of him. His fingernails felt like they had something caked under them...something shoved into them but he couldn’t feel anymore...it was too hard to concentrate on his nerve endings, on what he could sensationalize beyond what was going on. Something slid against him...something rippled upwards...something snaked around his thigh and he felt the muscles twitch. Thick and slick...he was **afraid** but he didn’t know what he was afraid of. His teeth were clenched...they were grinding together...there were sounds coming out of his throat and they seemed very far away. _

“Sir, there’s a difference, I think; between going soft and knowing when the subject isn’t able to give you answers at all.”

_Another...another ringing crack and something else split open. Hot...searing wetness spread down his side...felt like a shimmering, seething tide over his torso. There was the impression of something flayed wide...of steel and the bite of iron...of darkness...of felt stretched tight over his eyes. Something in him insisted he was shivering, that he couldn’t control the shaking in his limbs because of his position and his current physical state. Another part of him acknowledged that this was the same...that it was all the same; that he had done this before...that he had survived this many times and he would survive again. He had to survive...but he didn’t know why. Right now, it would likely be easy for him to shut down...to pull away...to give up. Perseverance; he’d preached in favor of it….it seemed to trivial now...so pointless. And he didn’t want to pity himself, because pity was something he tried to avoid...but it was hard…_

“Sergeant, if I have to repeat myself, I’ll get you suspended. I know you were on his squad, don’t try and pull the wool over my eyes with dogma that I taught you.”

_”He knew them...both of them. He had trained both of them; put in recommendations to the Board for them because they were hard workers. Maybe they all worked too hard; maybe he put too much stock in his work. Maybe he was too proud of his accomplishments. Maybe he put too much value in the battlefield...maybe he deserved this. Sephiroth had always looked him strangely when he talked about honor...like he was speaking about something the youngest of them couldn’t fathom, despite the fact that he’d been in the field longer than any of them. The General valued his career, but it was clear that there was a line he would not cross when it came to giving merit to what he was ordered to do. He talked about renown, about verity...and the silver-haired FIRST looked at him like he didn’t know a damn thing. At the time, he’d been determined to prove him wrong...to show him that honor **did** have a place in SOLDIER. But now...now he was beginning to think that Sephiroth was right...he was beginning to think that Sephiroth hadn’t looked at him with disdain, but pity._

“Sir, _please_.”

_There was the sound of scuffling, or someone trying to resist and someone else overpowering them. A door-heavy, metal-creaked open...there was the sound of stumbling out...maybe into a hallway, and then it slammed shut again. He couldn’t feel his fingertips; they were bound somehow….had been for a while and the blood supply to them had been cut off. If this kept up, he’d lose some of them. His heart felt like it was pounding out of his ribcage; like it was trying to jump out of his chest and he just couldn’t **take** this anymore. The ironic part of it was that he didn’t **have** answers...not really. He didn’t know anything beyond what he was tasked with, what he **wanted** to do and what he had failed to do. The irony, the pointlessness of their efforts didn’t escape him. He couldn’t open his eyes...they felt swollen, cracked...like the lids had been overused. He knew his face was bruised. He had enough experience with that from sparring, from battle. A humanistic part of him feared that he wouldn’t get his sight back...that he’d be stuck in this black-covered hellish agony forever. He didn’t **want** to feel that fear...but the fear was there._

“I’d advise you to talk; but I think that’s pointless” something shifted...something heavy. “At least I’ll have gotten the satisfaction of wringing every last bit of agony from your traitorous body before I slit your throat.”

_He wished for death. Many times, during the whole ordeal, he wished for it. Sometimes he wondered if that was what Genesis felt...so many years ago. When the redhead came to see him with a split lip and a bruised face; barely five years old with knobbly knees, red cheeks and blue eyes that were trying **so hard** not to cry. And in those cerulean irises was the singular question...the boyish question of **’why??’** Why did his father beat him? Why did he hit him for his wrongs when he could just sit him down and talk to him? he had never been able to provide his best friend that answer...had never been able to tell the scarlet-haired boy that clung to his sweatshirt like he was going to disappear at any moment why the world was so cruel. And he’d grown out of it; let his flair and flamboyance become a substitute to that terrible feeling that he would always be inadequate...but that haunted look, that tired look...it was always there. And he felt like an imposter; because he was loved; because his mother was a good woman who would watch Genesis limp out the door to the cottage to go back home and then sob into a tea towel until she was doubled over and gasping because she could not keep him there. And he had felt like a terrible friend...always. Because he was not brave enough to run away with him, or because he loved his mother too much to run away with him...he wasn’t sure which one it was. Maybe this was his recompense. Maybe this was the consequence of his cowardice._

“Six months is long enough, if you ask me.”

_Six months...it seemed so much longer. Sitting in a dark room...blindfolded and then dragged out to be tortured and questioned...it seemed so long. Sometimes...when the sessions went on long enough, he would sit in the cell afterwards and listen to his blood drip onto the concrete of the floor below the cot. It was common for them to refrain from cleaning him up for a while. They didn’t let him go too long without healing...but they didn’t let him be long enough for his wounds to heal completely. It made each subsequent session more painful, because they would work up to what they had done before and then bring it all out in the open again. Some of the things they did were unmentionable...some of them he couldn’t fully recall because he retreated so far into himself that the world was a wall of sleet...like a hailstorm in the back of his mind. There were-occasionally-flashes of recollection; the memory of invasion...of hard substance-never flesh-of sharpness...of sitting on the rim of the toilet watching blood sluice down the drain. They came and went in his brain...threw themselves forward with white-hot snaps of recollection only to withdraw again like the breath of wayward wind._

“Maybe Hojo had the right idea with Sephiroth.”

_Sephiroth’s abuse was not so much a speculative thing with him as much as it was an acknowledged and unspoken thing. He didn’t know what to look for, but Zack did. It was, in fact, Zack who had come to him one day...a grave expression on his face, and asked him to take over a mission for Sephiroth that was-as far as he was concerned-fairly easy. When pressed for more information, the younger man had retreated, had muttered about the fact that the General was ‘moving funny’...and ‘not moving in other ways’...and he had felt his heart plummet into a dark well of sorrow. Zack knew...of course he would know. He had had the privilege of growing up on a relatively safe property...under the eyes of powerful individuals who could not let such things happen on their land. Fair had grown up in the middle of nowhere; where you had to fend for yourself, where the circumstances weren’t always safe...and even if it hadn’t happened to him, he knew what to look for. And Sephiroth’s existence was more clinical...more precise and far, far more extensive in terms of chronology. He didn’t know how to approach him about it, and now he didn’t know how he’d survived it._

“I think it’s time to get you going on round three”

_It wasn’t the same...none of it was the same. None of them had suffered existence on the same scale as the other. He couldn’t pretend to understand Genesis’ pain, or Sephiroth’s pain. He was always very careful to be respectful of that individual separation, to not put him in a place where he was devoid of sympathy because he couldn’t see past himself. But he could-at least-acknowledge his pain...and he was sick of it. Some days were easier to bear than others...days like this...he just wanted it to end. He wanted them to just...give up on him...let him go. He was alone, and he didn’t know how to conscience that loneliness. It was a terrible feeling, it was an inadequate feeling...a feeling of being less...of becoming smaller and smaller until he was sure that someday...hopefully soon, they would walk into his cell and he’d have disappeared. The thought of nothingness had never been alarming to him...but now it was welcoming compared to this...now it was something forefront...something he desired...something that crept underneath his palms until it was all he could think about. Something invasive...something cold and painful and relentless and-_

“Stop!” He gasped. “ _Please_ stop!”

_There was a cold chuckle._

“I don’t intend to stop unless you intend to talk...you’re still alive...we can keep going...forever if you’re so determined...until the moon falls out of the sky and the Lifestream collapses in on itself.”

_Was he really a friend? Could he call himself a friend when everything was like this? It was becoming harder to remember what had happened the day before...harder to acknowledge that this was something that kept happening, and not something new. He didn’t know what kind of damage this was going to do to him in the long-run; knew that under different circumstances, he’d be called a trauma victim. But he had never wanted to be a victim, had never-in all his time there-considered himself a victim because the terminology of it felt like an excuse for instability. He had failed...on so many levels...to deliver. And now he was failing himself, his mind was failing him, his body was failing him. Agony...white hot fire...blood...more blood and he’d bitten through his lip to suppress the noises threatening to spill from his throat. Someone was laughing, so many people were laughing and it was loud and cacophonous and could he just **die** already? They were never going to stop...they were never going to let him rest and this would be his reality forever...forever and ever and-”_

-Angeal sat up with a strangled cry.

Around him...the room was dark. His old apartment...if he remembered correctly. Everything about it was foreign, like the person who had lived in it before was a stranger and he was an intruder in his personal space. The nautical trinkets he’d so carefully collected, letters from SOLDIERs he had trained...it was all so distant. He didn’t know why they hadn’t cleared out his room, why they hadn’t gotten rid of everything he owned. It was all there...like a terrible, monstrous lie...like his life had been a lie. The details of his dream faded slowly, but they lingered under his skin...slithered down his spine until he put his head in his hands. The sheets pooled at his waist...wrapped around his torso and he kicked them down because the sensation was suffocating. Far away...far away he could hear the sounds of the building beginning to wake up for the day….but he couldn’t make himself move. Something was paralyzing him...something was keeping him from lifting a single finger to get out of bed.

It was like being a child...like peering over the edge of the mattress into the darkness below..like wondering what was lurking underneath box spring and frame. Every inch of him was shivering...every inch of him felt flayed and damaged and as much as he wanted to admit it was a dream...he knew it wasn’t. But he didn’t know why he couldn’t seem to recall anything when he was awake...why some parts of his recollective prowess were hazy...dark clouds of nothingness. It didn’t explain the fear...didn’t explain why he was constantly on edge, or why he was always expecting an attack from behind. And it did explain it...in some ways. It explained it on a level that was wholly terrifying and humiliating. He’d shoved it down...it was suppressed, everything about it was layered and he was afraid of what would happen if started peeling those layers away. For now, he had to function. For Genesis...for the sake of the people. Every day he had to be someone he wasn’t because if he didn’t, he’d fall apart. He had to get up, had to get dressed, had to check on his broken childhood friend and hold meetings with what was left of HQ. Angeal had to be a man, had to preserve his honor and face the day with hope and fortitude. It didn’t stop him from sitting there until his alarm had gone off ten times.

And it didn’t stop that hole inside from getting a little wider...like it did each day he told himself he was okay.

* * *

 

Genesis was drunk.

Specifically, Genesis was so drunk he was plastered over Sephiroth’s apartment floor drooling onto the concrete. Wearing a black and white striped turtleneck, nondescript khaki’s and mismatched socks...he was sprawled limblessly...barely awake with his eyes rolling back in his head. Staring at the hole in the wall behind the redhead, Angeal acknowledged that maybe putting him in that specific space was a very bad idea. In his defense, he hadn’t _known_ that the deceased General had what amounted to a liquor store’s worth of spirits behind a wall in his abode. However, it seemed that Genesis had, and apparently he’d used Rapier to bash the wall open and try to poison himself with inordinate amounts of vodka. He was-in a purely sadistic way-extremely impressed with the Demon of Wutai for hiding this for so long. It explained why he occasionally came to meetings looking like he was going cross-eyed. That didn’t, in retrospect, help matters much now. Specifically, it didn’t help the fact that Genesis’ daughter was cooing in her crib while her father was passed out on the ground. With a painful feeling his chest, Angeal crossed the space between the door and the duo and tried not to scream.

It wasn’t fair.

None of it was fair. All of it was painful in a way that made him wish that he could turn back time and do things right. Staring at that thatch of scarlet hair as its owner mumbled incoherently, the former Commander acknowledged that so much of it was wrong he didn’t know how to make it right. He’d never been in that position before; a position where he had no idea what to do. He couldn’t make Genesis get help, and he couldn’t bring Sephiroth back. He couldn’t even bring his body back. Angeal had gone...not long after he was released. Angeal had flown to the Northern Continent by himself in the middle of a blizzard to bring the body of the General back and nothing was there. There was no sign the battle had ever taken place...just miles and miles of snow. He spent hours combing the coast...ended up calling in for aid just so he could melt the drifts in order to ensure that the corpses weren’t unearthed later...when the snow began to melt and rot set in. They found the bodies of those who the silver-haired SOLDIER had killed...but they didn’t find him. In the end, it was assumed that a monster got to him first...that he’d been dragged off.

They had a funeral.

It was so brief, and no one stood up to speak. Aerith held it in her church and those that attended looked like wraiths. Genesis was so pale he could barely stand...could barely sit upright. He’d insisted on it...had insisted on it all being ‘done properly’ because Sephiroth had never had anything done properly for him while he was alive. But it was difficult to watch...difficult to see the older man shake in a pew until his protege’s girlfriend threw her arms around him and held onto him like she was afraid he was going to vibrate himself apart. They all dressed up, all went to the effort to put on suits and ties and pay their respects because Sephiroth had always been respectful, if not always kind or understanding. Lazard looked like a man dug up from the grave, looked like he couldn’t bear the thought of being alive...and Angeal got it...a little bit. He’d watched Sephiroth grow up, had mentored him before he joined the program. He was one of the last people left to a dynasty that was so terrible. Nobody spoke...someone played the organ.

Life didn’t go on.

In some ways...it did...out of necessity. Shinra was shut down...the SOLDIER program was shut down. The reactors were beginning to be dismantled. HQ itself was repurposed; the higher floors were reserved for SOLDIERS displaced by the negation of the program but the barracks were torn down and Lazard was beginning to negotiate with city representatives to find a solution for the structure in its entirety. Most of the government-related work was held in place, because you couldn’t destroy an economical and social system overnight and expect the citizens to know how to survive. He supposed that he ought to be thankful for Shinra’s deep pockets; they had an exorbitant amount of money to spend on city planning. There was a plan in place for the slums to be cleared out; for the people living there to relocate into a still-unbuilt housing system just outside of the Upper Plate. What was left upon relocation would be dug up in order to find a water source so the city could run on hydropower.

He helped where he could.

It was hard to focus on rebuilding a government and trying to make sure he didn’t find Genesis cold in his bed every morning. Glancing at the bottles littering the apartment, the dark-haired man acknowledged that he really ought to stay...or try and convince the redhead to at least move into his flat. Aerith was doing a wonderful job with Saoirse, but she was tired...and Zack was starting to get irritable. Genesis was prone to just...doing nothing. There were times when he surfaced...particularly with his daughter...times when he did nothing but spend hour upon hour with her. He seemed to fluctuate between brief, clearly terribly difficult highs and crushing lows. Those were the days when he forgot to shower...when Angeal sometimes had to drag him from bed just to get him to eat something. Sometimes the redhead lost his temper, sometimes the former Commander had to sit in one place for an hour while the scarlet-haired ex-SOLDIER screamed at him at the top of his lungs.

Then, of course, there were days like this.

Bending down, Angeal scooped up Saoirse, who looked a bit startled to see him but smiled nevertheless. Somewhat bitterly, he acknowledged that Genesis had never really acknowledged her smile...that he had never really seen her starting to try to crawl...that he never seemed to see her reach for him whenever he walked away. The rational part of him understood his pain...wanted to be sympathetic to it. The irrational, broken part of him was angry, because you could toss it up in any traumatic way you wanted, but this was still Genesis’ child. This was still a baby he’d made...his own flesh and blood. Saoirse was the only living remnant of Sephiroth left in the redhead’s life. And he knew that it was a double-edged sword; that her existence was as painful as it was beautiful. But another facet of him insisted that Sephiroth had not gone through so much trauma...that he had not lived and died only to have the only remaining fragment of his lineage be neglected. He was deeply resentful of that, but more than that, he was saddened.

“Hey there” he said quietly. Green eyes framed with thick red lashes looked at him curiously and he tried not to think about who those terribly green eyes came from. “You look like you could use a change.”

Sighing, Angeal toted Saoirse with him to grab a diaper and a change of clothes. Many of them had gotten used to the tasks involved in caring for a baby. Aerith was the chief expert among them, with Gillian’s help of course. Upon hearing about Angeal’s release and Sephiroth’s death, his mother had hopped a ship and practically torn her way across the continent to get there, and she hadn’t left since. When he met her on the landing pad, it took everything he had not to collapse, not to run to her because she was there and she was looking at him in such a worried, gentle way. Instead, he collapsed later. When they were alone in his apartment Angeal had collapsed and she had cried because that was what mothers do. Genesis refused to see her, and he didn’t have the energy to press him to. Whenever Angeal brought her up the redhead seemed to flinch away, seemed to shrink into himself. He didn’t know if it was shame or fear, but he couldn’t muster the motivation to shove him to her because he didn’t know how either of them would react. Instead, he let her take Saoirse when she asked, and Genesis never asked what she and Gillian did, so he never told him.

 _“N’Geal..”_ Halfway to the kitchen on a mission to make a bottle, the man in question paused and looked back over his shoulder. Genesis was still laying on the carpet, but his head was partially raised...his focus flickering this way and that. A long-fingered hand came up to swipe at the redhead’s mouth, and he seemed to refrain from being sick all over the floor with a great amount of effort. The former Commander opened his mouth several times only to close it again. “M’sorry.”

At a loss of what to say, the owner of the Buster Sword came back to stand over his friend, watched as he tried to reach for the vodka again and kicked the bottle out of his reach.

“I think you’ve had enough” he said firmly.

He had to put Saoirse in her crib so he could stop Genesis from drowning in his own vomit a few minutes later; had to haul him up and put him on the inflatable mattress so he could clean up the floor and then clean the redhead himself. By the time he was finished, the baby was crying for a bottle and he had to rush and do that before returning to clean up whatever was left behind. They’d added a few amenities; a futon, which he occasionally used, a TV and appliances, but the rest of the apartment was bare. It wasn’t cheerful in the least...certainly wasn’t a place for a child to grow up...but right now there was very little else available.

“N-need” Genesis swallowed thickly, blinked in rapid succession before speaking again. “Need time.. _need time._ ”

Kneeling next to the mattress, Angeal scrubbed a hand over his face, dug his fingers into his hair and tried to ground himself.

“I understand” he said solemnly. “But Genesis, your daughter...she’s growing up without you.”

He watched as his best friend’s visage scrunched up, as it contorted into an expression he didn’t recognize. It took him a moment to realize that the scarlet-haired ex-SOLDIER was trying not to cry, that he was using every aspect of his physicality to keep from doing so.

“Trying” was the broken, slurred response. “M’trying...Angeal, but so...I’m so _lonely_...m’ _alone_ inside.”

“You’re not” Angeal whispered. “You’re not alone, but I know it’s not the same, and I’m _sorry_.”

Genesis retched and this time he was able to drag him up...get his hands under his armpits so they could stagger to the bathroom so he could be sick into the toilet. He didn’t know what to do...he reflected as he steadied his friend. And if the nightmares kept coming for him worse...if the memories kept coming for him worse...he didn’t know how much help he would be able to be. They haunted him during the day now...stalked his psyche like ominous, looming shadows. He was trying to be a good friend, he was trying to battle Genesis’ demons...his sorrows, but _his_ own demons were creeping up on him from behind...closer and closer. He needed to talk to someone, but he didn’t know who he could turn to. Angeal was fairly sure if he told Gillian it would break her, and she was worried enough about Genesis already. Zack wouldn’t understand, and Aerith was so busy between her boyfriend, her niece, and her brother. A hand reached out to him and he grasped it automatically, pulled it tight in his palm and shook it like they had when they were kids performing a secret handshake. Genesis smiled, and he supposed it was meant to be a reassuring thing, but it came off as an empty thing. Saoirse began to cry and it was loud...the sound was accompanied by a residual...ringing _**crack**_ at the recesses of his psyche...his chest ached...he shivered. Maybe they were all empty…

...Maybe they were all alone inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: **Fuck everything about this chapter.****
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Edited out extremely weird plot hole. Edited for horrendous spelling errors. *Author has no idea how to separate reddit from the rest of their life.


	25. Chapter 25

Consciousness.

The theoretical value of it was in question...Genesis supposed. When he was conscious, he felt empty...he felt old and he felt bereft. Standing on the helipad...he acknowledged that he didn’t feel like a person anymore...he felt like a stranger in someone else’s body. Going through what little emotions he could, putting on a face for Saoirse; it all felt like some type of carnival sideshow. He was-so he told himself often-wearing a mask for the benefit of those around him. It was a poor mask...it was a barely-there mask...but it was still a mask. And sometimes he _felt_ like it was his face looking out at him, sometimes he felt like he was ‘fitting into’ himself better. Such moments were rare, fleeting things. They were more common with his daughter...she was getting older...bigger. Every time he pulled himself from the mire that was his misery he acknowledged she seemed more and more like him...more and more like Sephiroth.

Eight months had passed since she was born.

Eight long… _agonizing_ months since her father had left the world. He was thirty-one now, a ‘veritable old maid’ as Circinae would have said if she was still alive to say it. The fact that he didn’t look his age didn’t make the passage of time easier to bear, didn’t make his existence any more tolerable. It was tolerable when he looked at his child...when she smiled in that whole-hearted, earnest way that lit up her entire face. And he could make her look that way just by wandering into the room she was in. Sometimes, when she did it, he felt so dishonest he wanted to turn right around and do violent things to himself. Because no one should look at him that way anymore...no one should see him as so important. He wasn’t anything...wasn’t _anyone_...maybe to others he was...but he couldn’t see that at the moment...couldn’t feel it most of the time. And Saoirse looked at him like Sephiroth looked at him...not with the same elements of love...but with that patient, careful kind of observation that made his chest clench in a horrible way. She had his eyes...his nose...the curvature of her bottom lip-when she deigned to pout-was just like his. Though-of course-the General had never pouted. And she could be fiery and loud and she loved red but she was so much of Sephiroth...so much of both of them that there were days when he couldn’t look at her; when he handed her off to Gillian and then went off to drink himself to ruins.

He moved out of Sephiroth’s apartment.

This wasn’t so much his decision as much as it was a joint effort between Angeal and his mother. And it was only enacted because his childhood friend found him halfway dead somewhere around the sixth month with a blood alcohol level that was higher than lethal. If he’d thought that the dark-haired first was angry on the landing pad, he was wrong. Upon waking up in medical, Genesis had the privilege of watching his best friend glare at him from beyond his hospital bed for several days only to continue to glare at him when he’d moved into the apartment adjacent from the dark-haired ex-First. Fed up with it, confused, upset, and feeling somewhat abandoned, the redhead snapped that if he hated him so much he should have just let him die. This was, apparently, the wrong thing to say because Angeal lost his head. Angeal lost his head in a manner that he’d never seen before and some part of him whispered that there was something very wrong about that. In the middle of a brawl that knocked out a fairly large section of the sublevels he didn’t have time to examine it. He tried to but he was promptly punched in the face and then it didn’t really matter so much anymore.

There was something healing about it.

Grappling, pushed up against concrete with no romantic connotations, just...release in the violent sense was freeing. His body was used to combat, used to blood and anger and he and Angeal had fought countless times in their youth. It was part of being boys, part of being men...understanding the lines crossed and uncrossed in camaraderie and loyalty. He didn’t understand all of the emotionalism behind his friend’s response and his adversary didn’t understand the depth and scope of his grief but in this at least there was familiarity. And Genesis knew some of it was for Saoirse; that Angeal was fighting for her as much as he was fighting for his own rampant emotions. There was something sweet about that, something deeply sensitive and awfully kind. His childhood friend was also fighting for him...and he acknowledged that. Angeal was fighting for whatever scraps of him were left under this empty, soulless shroud and he did love him for it in the way that only brothers can love. Because it showed the depth of his caring, the depth of his fear and despite the fact that they were trading blows they were also trading unspoken, vulnerable words that articulation could never manage to get out on its own. Nobody was going for crippling shots...it wasn’t a spar, but it wasn’t a fight to the death either.

Maybe it was a fight against death.

It was almost poetic...when he thought about it that way...when he considered that he was fighting for his right to off himself and Angeal was saying _’the hell you are’_. He didn’t have the stomach for poetry anymore, however, so he brushed the thought away and threw another left hook...and another...and another. It was purely Gillian that stopped them from tearing each other to pieces. She came storming down a dozen fights to shout at them at the top of her lungs, tears glittering in her eyes and for the first time in a long time...Genesis felt ashamed. Flat against a wall with blood running from his nose...over his lips and down his chin as a massive bruise bloomed over Angeal’s left cheek, he was ashamed of his inability to manage his emotions...his inability to find any sort of temperance. Because this was not what he wanted his daughter to think was okay. He didn’t want the little girl that was only just starting to say ‘Da’-which admittedly was an easy word-to think that this was who he was and all he would ever be...this phantom hovering on the edges of her existence always looking in...always one step away from complete and total self-obliteration. He didn’t want her to be afraid like he was always afraid as a child...afraid of being alone...afraid that she was not enough.

Wanting change was entirely different from actually taking the reigns and making it happen.

Genesis didn’t believe in therapy, nor did he believe in medication. He believed that they worked for some, but he didn’t have enough trust in the medical system to put himself in the hands of a professional who didn’t know him beyond brief, half-hour sessions. More than that, the medical and scientific community had failed him and his partner in the past. Gast had used him and Hojo had tortured those who he could get his hands on. Turning to a system that had only discarded him and broken those he loved seemed counterproductive to any kind of recovery. When Angeal had apologized profusely enough for his own liking and Genesis had told him to ‘go fuck himself’ enough for _his_ own liking, he went to see Aerith. His sister seemed surprised when she opened the door to the little church in the slums and saw him standing there, but she recovered quickly. Taking him to sit in one of the pews-and he was sincerely grateful that she was mindful of not sitting him down anywhere near where he and Sephiroth had sat when he was dying of degradation-she simply lowered herself down to rest beside him and waited for him to speak.

His first instinct was to apologize.

Mostly because Aerith had taken over ‘mothering’ duties for his daughter for a significant amount of time. She was young...she didn’t have children of her own, and she had her own life. Genesis was aware that there were very few siblings who would step into the shoes he had forced upon her. There were fewer that would do it well, who would commit themselves to it in the way that she had. Saoirse adored Aerith; she _loved_ her, and there was no doubt as to whether that love was returned. The problem was that he’d never really been grateful for the part she was playing, he had never seen her...had never stopped to ask her how things were beyond what was absolutely necessary. They talked...but it was superficial...obligational and stilted and somewhat weak when it came to deeper nuances. Genesis had never shared how much Sephiroth’s death was affecting him, and his sibling had never shared to what degree Sephiroth’s death was forcing her to be someone she really didn’t have to be. So...he apologized…

...And, of course, there was _’nothing to forgive.’_

 

They spoke at length...of his deceased lover...of how much they both wished the Planet had said something...had warned them to any great degree. Aerith seemed to carry a great burden of guilt around in regards to that...in regards to her inability to prevent the inevitable. Genesis had no such connections with the Planet. Or, at the very least, he’d never tried to. Jenova was a threat; it made sense that whatever force governed their tiny astral sphere would want that threat eliminated as thoroughly as possible regardless of the cost to others. When it came to Jenova’s possession of Sephiroth, it was clear that she was involved quite thoroughly in Sephiroth’s procedural memory. This meant that she had a clear vantage point of tasks...of actions and follow through of actions. It explained why she was present in his heat and then gone once conception took place. There was a dualized, biological split between Sephiroth and Saoirse, and with two occupants of a hive mind inhabiting one body, it was like placing equal polls of a magnet against another magnet of the same pole; pregnancy was a repellent field. Two psyches became a distinct coagulant; mutated into something different that Jenova couldn’t penetrate. This was cohesive with her egress; with the fact that Sephiroth could not hear her once Genesis had impregnated him; those memories...those thoughts and agreements and conversations were shielded because she was not present during their formulation. It was...at once a great form of self-preservation and massive oversight on their part.

Talking about it was...better.

It was easier, so he found, to discuss it with Aerith, because she understood the intricacies behind certain things that others couldn’t. She also wasn’t directly connected with Sephiroth, so her feelings regarding it weren’t muddled by personal affectation. They weren’t exactly close, but closeness wasn’t entirely what he needed at the given moment...he needed to be able to take it apart as an observer rather than a participant...needed to be able to understand it clinically rather than personally. His sister seemed to comprehend that he didn’t want comfort...that he just wanted to talk and have someone listen without offering any guarantees for the future. He’d spent so much time hoping and hoping for a better future only to end up staggered by crushing disappointment...he could not afford to live on the premise of false promises or false aspirations anymore.

They agreed on check-ins.

It wasn’t exactly perfect...it was a little mundane...a little undesirable. He didn’t like to think of himself as a hindrance to others, as an obligatory presence because without that presence he wasn’t going to be okay...but he had to do it. Genesis was fully aware that he spent far too much time in his head...that he spent far too much time entrenched in memories of something that would never be. The alcohol wasn’t helping him in the slightest, and he was aware of the bitter irony of it. So he took Aerith’s offer of daily check-ins, tried to spend less time in his apartment and more time outside...even if it wasn’t helping with the reform. Genesis _did_ care about the reform, he had always cared, and he had always wanted something to turn to, some form of career-related activity to revert his focus...even when Sephiroth was alive. But he started small, started taking runs during the day and had his partner’s old apartment key taken by Angeal, who hid it somewhere where he wouldn’t find it.

He started talking to Gillian.

It was a lot harder than he thought it would be, because he didn’t know what to say to her. It had been so long since they’d spent quality time together. There was also the glaring fact that the last time they had, he’d revealed a secret that he now wasn’t quite so sure he should have. Maybe things would have been better if Shinra’s atrocities had stayed buried...stayed locked up and hidden away. There were times when he cursed his introspection, because maybe things would have been different. So when he apologized to Angeal’s mother and she hugged him and told him that she loved him _’so, so much’_ , her forgiveness was just a greater weight to bear, because maybe that forgiveness shouldn’t have been necessary in the first place. Maybe his mother would still be alive, maybe Sephiroth would still be alive. Maybe he would have been happy with the smokescreen in front of him until he died on the battlefield...but there was no going back now. Genesis spent time by himself, but never for too long. If he sat for too long, if he spent too much time staring at the walls he found himself itching to do something to his liver. When the need struck him hard enough and no one was around to assuage that need he tore the VR room apart. There were memories there...memories of a soft...velvet laugh and emerald eyes and if he laughed and cried while he tore through dozens of digitized bodies no one was there to see it.

It didn’t make it better, but it made it survivable.

Staring out at the open space of Midgar, Genesis acknowledged that this was something he might never be able to fully heal. He had to accept that, or he had to find some way to end this before he hurt those around him so badly he couldn’t live with himself anymore. A warm breeze whispered over his cheeks and he closed his eyes. Spring was coming...and it was strange. Strange to think the world was still moving, strange to think that anything could move forward when he felt like he was stuck...when he felt like he was never going to get past this. He could-distinctly-remember the last time he and Sephiroth had stood on the helipad together...could remember the wind shifting through his hair...could remember his smell...the touch of his black leather-clad hands as Angeal waited impatiently in the chopper.

_”...You’ve given me enough. ….You be careful as well.”_

He didn’t know if that was true; if he had given enough. The redhead was aware that by generalized standards he’d given practically everything he had, but nothing about them was generalizable. Everything about Sephiroth was so _big_...so massive and so worldly and all-encompassing. Despite his strange biological proclivities, despite his silence, despite his clear submission to a company that couldn’t possibly hold him should he choose to leave...Genesis had always felt small around him. And then he’d felt safe...and then he’d felt _loved_.

_”Don’t do that...don’t act like...like you’re something I could just walk away from. Like you’re nothing. That hurts me.”_

The laugh that spilled from his lips was a little hysterical, a little breathless. Because in the end...he _had_ walked away. He’d walked into the Lifestream...into the brilliant green of the hereafter and left him behind to care for a tiny, tiny person that was perfectly capable of being just as stern and serious as he was. Sephiroth had left him with the memories of his voice...of the press of his lips...of the smell of his hair and the rasp of big, calloused hands against his skin. Sephiroth had left him with love...and he was _angry_...but he also understood that purpose, _purpose_ was significant.

_”I'm not leaving you to suffer this alone. Did you really think I'd do that? Leave you alone to care for yourself?”_

“But you did” Genesis whispered. “You did, Seph.”

_”I want to be here for you...forever. But I’m equally aware of the fact that in this world…’forever’ is a concept that you can’t bank on.”_

That awareness was painful, it was so painful. Taking a deep breath, Genesis let it out slowly, tilted his head when the lift doors to the pad slid open but didn’t turn around.

_“You’re more than I deserve.”_

...Probably.

_Probably not._

In retrospect...he didn’t think that he would love again...he didn’t think he would ever find that kind of wholeness again. He didn’t know how to feel about that.

“If you jump, you should know that I’ve figured out how to use my wing.”

The smile that lifted one side of his lips was reflexive, not so much happy as it was wry. Angeal’s voice was tired, haunted. It was more than him at this point...but he didn’t have the introspection to ask, because he couldn’t offer coherent counsel. Genesis was in no place to offer reassurance or gentleness, so when he turned and lifted an eyebrow, it was an acknowledged thing, but not a sympathetic thing. The dark-haired former First crossed his arms and echoed his facial gesture before stepping forward. There was the rustle of baggy fatigues, the sense of presence at his side and the scarlet-haired ex-SOLDIER watched as sapphire eyes gazed out onto the cityscape.

“Whoop-dee-fucking-doo” Genesis replied, smirking. Angeal gave him a hairy look and he raised his hands in protest. “‘Geal, if I wanted to off myself, there are way more creative ways to do it.” When his friend’s expression didn’t change to something slightly less apprehensive, he sighed. “Y’know, I could hang myself with BDSM equipment or choke on a dildo or something.” He shrugged. “Might happen by accident because I can’t find the motivation to get laid.”

The sigh that followed his declaration was explosive.

“While I appreciate the front...you don’t have to do that” was the quiet return.

The ire that rose within him was irrational; he pushed it down and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What do you want, Angeal?” he muttered. “Can’t I crack a joke without you accusing me of prettying up the trainwreck that is currently my life?”

“You can” his friend aceded, shifting his weight to one side before apparently deciding it wasn’t worth it and sitting down at the takeoff ledge with his feet dangling over the side. “But not when it comes to joking about life and death.”

Crouching, the scarlet-haired former First hung his head for a moment before tilting his chin...watching idly as the sun rose over HQ. He understood Angeal’s apparently rampant seriousness on the topic considering the his previous track record. The petty individual in him wanted to argue, wanted to stomp all over himself and his comrade because that was what he’d always done and it had the added bonus effect of repelling him. That was not, however, what was going to make him feel better...it was not going to give him any sort of healing. Genesis was self-destructive and stubborn because being alone had always been an effective method for him in the past...it had always been a shield, but that shield had never given him anything at all.

_”You understand….don’t you?”_

“Do you believe in the afterlife?” Genesis asked quietly.

Angeal startled somewhat, perhaps taken off guard by such a deep question coming from someone who was not very inherently deep. Seeming to consider his query, the dark-haired man ran a hand through onyx locks and narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t know” was the equally subdued response. “I can’t answer that for you, Genesis. And even if I could...I don’t know if it’s worth thinking about now.”

There was a stretch of silence before the redhead spoke again.

“I just...I want to know...I want to _hope_...that I’d see him again.” He laughed weakly. “I think that’s pretty fucking stupid. To hope for some kind of death-related paradise just so I can see him.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid” Angeal said firmly. “I don’t. I think it’s honest, and I think it shows how much you loved-how much you _love_ -him.”

“I don’t know if he loved me” Genesis whispered.

A hand on his arm gave him pause, and he tilted his chin to see former fellow Commander looking at him intensely.

“I’m stating the obvious here” was the steadfast response. “But Sephiroth loved you, Genesis. Sephiroth loved you enough that he _died_ for you. And I know it doesn’t seem like a favor now, I know it seems cruel and heartless. But-” Angeal hesitated before he plowed on resolutely. “-Sometimes” he said haltingly. “The things you go through for the people you love don’t make much sense, even to the people who go through them...it doesn’t make much sense. Sometimes it hurts a lot, sometimes it never goes away...it just…” Cerulean eyes disappeared behind dark lashes. “ _Pain_ ” he forced out. “A lot of it. When you’re in that much pain, when you have so little control, you’re not rational. You don’t wish ill upon those you’re protecting, but you want out of that pain. You don’t think about who your passing might affect because it’s been going on for so long.”

Genesis stared at Angeal, something cold slithering in his belly.

“What…” he said slowly before stopping and clearing his throat. “What did they do to you, Angeal?”

The expression that morphed over the familiar face before him was something he couldn’t call anything but _agony_. And he wanted to push, but he didn’t know how to do it because he was so mucked up with himself.

“It doesn’t matter” was the harsh response, ragged at the edges. “But what I’m saying Genesis is that Sephiroth…” he swallowed. “Sephiroth was abandoned, tortured, and manipulated from the moment he was born. I-I can’t pretend to understand that _depth_ of brokeness. And I’m not saying that you’re not suffering. But Jenova...maybe Jenova was the straw that broke the camel’s back...and she broke him not once...but twice. Sephiroth was in a lot of pain, and none of it was your fault. _None of it._ Sometimes you can’t stop these things from happening, and it’s horrible, but it’s not your fault.”

It was hard to push the tears that bubbled up in his throat back...hard to swallow around the lump in his adam’s apple because while they were relevant words...it was difficult to believe them. Angeal’s hand was still on his arm, and he shook his head when said hand patted him in that rough, friendly manner he was so accustomed to.

“I’d like to think he’s looking” Genesis said finally. “That he can see us...that he can see Saoirse growing up.” He shook his head. “But maybe it would be better if he wasn’t...because I wouldn’t want him to miss me...miss _us_ like I’m missing him.”

Angeal was wordless for a good long while, and the warm spring air filtering over them was clear of exhaust from the reactors...extinguished now...the Lifestream allowed to return from whence it came.

“Maybe he’s waiting” was the quiet reply. “Maybe he’s waiting for you to come to him…”

“...Maybe he’s closer than you think.”

* * *

 

 _Take me down to the shoreline..._  
  
...where you stitched my memories onto the backs of hermit crabs and starfish.  
  
Every filament of psychic tapestry is embroidered on the fins of the manta-ray...  
  
...wing tips hemmed to the ebb and flow of a mindless current.  
  
_And your eyes are the passing currents of whimsy wave._  
  
The muslin twitch of a fringed jellyfish is the light behind your lips...  
  
...sandy knees kneading needlework in barnacle beds, bruised cockles and skittering crustaceans.  
  
_Drown me slowly, just beneath the surface...'till the bubbles cease to rise._  
  
Sea foam is the piping to my leather jackets, bubbling and yellowed like an aged page..  
  
...words as empty as the arc of an uninhabited shell; trimmed in bubblegum pink...like the curl of the tongue.   
  
_Your sighs are salt on the breeze, a wingtip there and hence...fluttering forth._  
  
Tied my soul to a sandbar, knitting the cross hairs of my cardiovascular system to a coelacanth.  
  
Darling, your needle and thread are masters of moon and sky.   
  
_Won't you leave me here in the ruins of our sandcastle...._  
  
...I can wash away with the rise of the tide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I'm going to be taking a two week break after this to start formulating the next book. I draw up plotlines by hand beforehand, it's the only way I'm able to really process what's going to happen. And I'm sorry that this chapter was another sort of dialogue between Angeal and Genesis, I'm going to try to deviate away from that in the coming weeks, it's just kind of a hard thing to get away from at this point because we don't have a large character pool to draw from, and the characters that exist...Angeal's just the one that's closest, so he'd be the one that Genesis would rely on the most, I think. 
> 
> With that aside, thank you so much for reading, and hopefully you will enjoy the next installment just as much. I really, truly appreciate the support, it means more to me than I'm capable of saying. so much of this fic is a journey for me, as with my other fics, and the fact that people are willing to take this journey with me is inherently valuable.
> 
>  **Edit:** The nonobligatory theme song for Miasma is Je T'aime by Kelly Sweet. I'm not entirely sure why except that I listened to it throughout much of the composition of Miasma.

**Author's Note:**

> **R &R**


End file.
